Lovely
by kwater
Summary: John’s on a hunt and calls on twenty-year old Dean, and sixteen-year old Sam for help. When things don’t go as planned, Sam finds himself having to come to the rescue.
1. Chapter 1

"We're lost, Chris," Julie muttered. Tightening her grip on the steering wheel, she chanced a glance at her friend and navigator.

Christine shifted the atlas that lay open on her lap and ground out, "We're not lost. It's just taking a bit longer than I thought to meet back up with the highway."

Julie Similar rolled her eyes at her friend's explanation and returned her gaze to the road. She'd learned miles back not to take her eyes off the road for more than a second or run the risk of driving them off an embankment. The curvy mountain roads that had been so much fun to drive earlier turned into a downright nightmare once nightfall arrived. It didn't help that the farther east they went the higher the elevations.

At this point, there was little chance they'd be making it into Huntington, West Virginia as planned. In fact, there was a good chance they'd end up taking a truck-stop nap sooner rather than later. Julie was having a hard time keeping her eyes open.

"Listen, Chris, I'm beat. Just pick the first town you find and get us there. I don't care how podunk it is, there's gotta be someplace we can catch some sleep."

Christine sighed and bent over the map once more, a small penlight in her hand. "Are you sure? I was really looking forward to the HoJo's."

Julie had to admit she'd looked forward to a night's stay in a real motel also, but as she'd learned over the last three months, flexibility was key. It was especially important when you were intent on driving through each state in the continental United States. "We'll just do it tomorrow night instead. Besides its already past midnight, I'd hate to waste a room on only a couple hours sleep."

"I guess," Christine replied heavily. "Well, then our closest town would be Lovely."

Julie felt a lifting of her spirits at the town name. "Lovely, Kentucky?"

Christine's finger trailed across the worn page of the map and she nodded. "Yup, Lovely Kentucky. From the looks of it if we sneeze we'll miss it."

Determined to brighten her friend's outlook, Julie smiled and said, "Come on, with a name like Lovely, it's gotta be worth seeing."

888

"I'm not going. He can't make me," Sam stated, inwardly frowning at the petulant sound of his voice. He didn't miss his older brother's grimace as Dean continued to hone the edge of his favorite bowie knife.

"Wanna make a bet?" Dean replied evenly.

His brother's words echoing his own thoughts only served to increase Sam's anger. "I've got exams tomorrow. I can't just ditch." Sam's voice rising in frustration.

If Sam wasn't so completely focused on Dean, he would have missed the slight tic in his brother's strong jaw. Sam knew that if it was up to the twenty year old he'd be allowed to skive off his father's latest hunt.

"Well, what's a big brother for if not to help you blow off school?" Dean said his joking words at odds with his sympathetic tone. "I'll write you a note."

Dean's refusal to side with him against John's sudden announcement that they were going to get an early start on the weekend in order to track down a rawhead causing problems in the next state, only increased Sam's ire. Though his mind insisted his current nightmare wasn't Dean's fault, his emotions refused to let his only champion off the hook. The rational thing to do would have been to save his argument for his father, problem was there was no guarantee John would return tonight or he'd bother to listen if he did.

So, that left Dean.

Sam firmed his resolve and pushed. "I already missed the first four weeks of my sophomore year for Dad's stupid crusade. I skip exams and my teachers are going to start asking questions."

"Finding the thing that killed mom is not stupid, Sam!" Dean snapped, all trace of his earlier sympathy gone.

Sam felt a pang of guilt course through him at his brother's words. He knew this was one subject he and Dean would likely never agree on. Dean wholeheartedly supported their father's decision to search the countryside trying to find Mary's killer. Though he rarely discussed their mother, Sam knew the image of Mary would forever live in his brother's heart, a mother lost, their family destroyed.

For Sam it was different. Mary was an idol, put on a pedestal by his brother and his father, not someone that had once been flesh and blood. She was no more real to him than Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny. That made it all the easier for him to accept she was gone and no amount of revenge would bring her back. To Sam, the time spent tracking down her killer was little more than a crusade that would end like all crusades did, in bloodshed and heartache. The years spent hunting only served to convince him he was right, every member of the Winchester family bore the scars to prove it.

Like always, Sam found his brother's dogged defense of their father baffling. Dean, more than any of them, bore the marks of John's poor decisions. He would never understand how his older brother, who usually saw the world so clearly in terms of black and white, could paint John in such shades of grey.

Internally acknowledging his misstep, Sam backtracked, "I know," he muttered trying to sound remorseful. "It's just I'm worried about drawing too much attention to myself." Sam met his brother's piercing green gaze and widened his eyes in a silent plea.

He could see the moment his brother weakened. Dean's frown smoothed out and the fingers that gripped the knife's hilt eased slightly. "I can't promise anything," Dean stated flatly.

"Thanks, Dean," Sam breathed, careful not to sound smug. He had to admit as annoying as Dean sometimes was, his big brother could always be counted on to come through for him in a clutch. Confident in Dean's ability to out maneuver their father, Sam turned his attention back to the books spread out on the thread-bared bedspread he sat upon.

888

Dean watched as his brother's slight frame eased, the tension slipping from the kid at his words. Already, the lanky youth was once more absorbed in his world of academia, his worries about missing school already forgotten. As far as Sam was concerned Dean's word was law, no matter what John Winchester allowed himself to believe. Sad thing was, Dean knew his father wouldn't fight too hard to have Sam on the hunt simply because the senior Winchester and the youngest had done little more than argue over the last year and a half.

Strike that, he thought as he gathered up the supplies he'd been prepping and slipped from the cramped bedroom he and Sam shared. The discord between John and Sam actually began years ago in a town called Fall River. It was there Sam's hero worship of their father began to wear thin, causing the kid to question John's leadership. The last five years of hunting, living a near constant life on the road and injuries sustained by them all only served to widen the gap between the two of them. Problem was, Dean now found himself straddling that gap more and more as their arguments increased in ferocity.

A slight sigh escaped him as he began double-checking the supplies needed for the upcoming hunt. His father had called early yesterday morning to let them know he'd hit upon a town suffering from a spate of missing children. The town was located about four hours away in the foothill mountains of Appalachia. Though it was hard to get a read on the reclusive residents of the tiny settlement, John figured there were at least eight kids missing from the surrounding area. Some had disappeared as far back as a year and a half ago, but more recently, three children had gone missing less than a week ago. Near as John could tell they were dealing with a rawhead, a creature that preyed on the young and helpless.

The hunt proved to be a tricky one and not at all pleasant. Dean understood this wasn't a rescue mission. There was very little chance the creature had left any of the children still alive. Most likely, they'd find little more than the remains of its young victims. That was another reason he'd allowed Sam to beg off. After all, despite the fact his brother was far from naive Dean couldn't help but try and protect what little innocence Sam had left.

Dean never gave a thought to his own innocence as he worked to load the remaining equipment into the back of the Impala. Though he'd never dealt with a rawhead before he'd seen enough horror in his twenty years to have permanently erased what little naivety he'd had to begin with. He knew his fate had been sealed years ago on the night his mother had died for him.

For him there was no turning back.

Sam, on the other hand, deserved better. Dean had spent the larger part of his life trying to soften the blows life so often seemed to want to deal out to the Winchesters. He'd protected his brother as well as he could from the darker side of their business. Though Sam did the majority of the research on most of their hunts and knew the realities of the creatures they fought. There were simply certain images that once seen could never be erased.

Certain at last he had everything he needed to meet up with his father, Dean slammed the trunk lid closed and ran an appreciative hand over the glossy black finish of his classic car. Ever since his father had turned the keys over to him he still found it hard to believe the car was really his. Though he'd never dared to voice aloud his desire to own the black beauty, both his father and Sam had known just what the car meant to him. Gifting him the keys had been one of the few things that both John and Sam had wholeheartedly agreed about.

As he headed back inside the tiny two-bedroom house they'd been renting in Charleston, West Virginia, he cringed as the rusted screen door screeched shut behind him. The Winchesters had been staying here for the last three months now and though Dean knew they'd stayed in worse places, he had to admit this one was pretty bad. Everything from its location, dead center in the worst part of town, to the faulty heater and brown water made it a contender in 'the worst slum ever stayed in' contest he and his brother had going.

"Sammy," Dean called, moving across the tiny living room and into the even smaller kitchen. A quick rummage through the cabinets for a bag of chips to tide him over, accompanied by a groan as he shook a roach free from the bag and squashed it under his boot, and he was ready to go. "Get a move on, Princess, Dad's waiting on me."

At last, Sam ambled out of their shared bedroom, one hand raking through his shaggy brown hair. The hair had been one more rebellion in Sam's never ending quest for normal. Despite their father's countless orders, the teen adamantly refused to have it cut. Short of physically holding the kid down and shaving him bald, an empty threat which John had uttered on more than one occasion, there was little their father could do about it. Dean knew it pleased Sam to no end, the kid made pissing their dad off an art form and it was a craft he was constantly honing.

"'s up?" Sam questioned as he came to a stop before Dean.

Dean bit back a sharp retort and took a deep breath before he spoke. "Just wanted to say goodbye. Dad an' I'll be back by Tuesday at the latest. We won't call unless there's a problem. I left the motel info on the notepad by the phone just in case."

Sam nodded a slight frown creasing his eyebrows. "It's not like this is the first time I've been left alone, Dean. I'm not a kid."

Again, Dean bit back his first response and schooled himself to patience. Sam was right, this wasn't the first time he was being left alone, and it most likely wouldn't be the last if Sam continued to get his way. However, that didn't stop the guilt that dogged Dean's heels each time he left his brother. "I know, kiddo. Just go with me okay?"

"Sorry," Sam muttered, contrition written all over his expression.

Happy to catch a glimpse of his baby brother inside the six foot two gangly youth with the shaggy hair and mercurial temper, Dean nodded and turned to go. With one last, "Take care of yourself, Sam." He headed out the door and into the evening air. As he crossed the scrub serving as their lawn he couldn't help but call out, "Don't get so caught up in your studying that you forget to party hard and get yourself laid."

"Jerk!" Sam called out.

Dean didn't bother to turn around to admire the blush that was probably working its way up his baby brother's fuzzy cheeks. Instead, he simply called out, "Bitch" and climbed into the car.

Despite his regrets at leaving Sam behind, he couldn't help but get caught up in the thrill of the hunt to come. Over the years he'd become a larger part of his father's hunts and he'd relished every moment. Despite Sam's accusations that Dean only hunted to appease John, Dean felt as if he'd finally found his place in life. His only complaint was the constant contention between Sam and John. Dean wanted nothing more than for Sam to get the same kind of enjoyment from hunting that Dean himself got. Problem was it seemed Sammy couldn't see past the sacrifices to the benefits that could be reaped.

With one last glance in the rearview, Dean pulled away from the house, his mind already focused on convincing his dad he'd done the right thing by leaving Sammy behind.

888

Sam stood in the driveway long after the Impala pulled out, a feeling of unease snaking its way through his gut. Though he'd gotten what he wanted, he couldn't help but worry. His brother was always so stupidly sacrificial when it came to hunting and Sam spent every day in fear that one of these times Dean's luck would run out. It was one of the reasons he could no longer blindly follow his father into danger.

He found it harder and harder to give a damn about the victims they saved when it was his brother putting himself in danger instead. When John had hunted on his own, it had been easy for Sam to get caught up in the glamour of the job, to feel pride in the fact that though his father had no official uniform he was no less a hero than any other soldier at war. It was only once Dean had begun to truly hunt, and not just train, did Sam realize that like all soldiers there would come a time when his brother didn't return. The loss of his father, though it would be excruciating, was tolerable. Losing Dean, well, that would end his world.

So, he'd done the only thing he could do. He'd begun to buck against his father's orders. To question his plans and judgments. To find fault with the old man's logic in a desperate attempt to make Dean realize blind faith would only serve to get him killed. Instead, the plot had backfired, making Dean even more insistent that all three Winchesters together made an unbeatable team.

That had left Sam with little in the way of options. He could fall into line and accept the inevitable, or he could refuse. He could work to carve out his own life, in his own world and when the call finally came, he would at least have something left to live for. It wouldn't be enough to fill in the spaces dedicated to his big brother, but, at least he might avoid drowning in his own sorrow.

As a shiver ran down Sam's back he came to realize darkness was quickly approaching. Resolutely shoving his worries to the back of his mind, he turned his thoughts back to his studies. He hadn't been lying to his brother when he'd used school as an excuse. Though he hadn't mentioned it to John, Sam had loaded as many college courses into his course load as possible. Ever since he'd arrived in Charleston he'd begun to think about his future in a way that didn't involve the next nameless town or worse some unimaginable horror.

Instead, he'd begun to dream about putting down roots. A dream that always started the same way, a scholarship to a great school, it would be his stepping stone and his way out all in one neatly wrapped paid for package. Sam's mind skittered away once more as he considered what his leaving would do to his father and brother. He would get away and if he had his way he'd take his brother with him.

888

Dean could not believe his friggin' luck, as he guided the Impala onto the shoulder of the highway. The oh so familiar, and yet dreaded, thump, thump, thump of a tire that's gone flat never failed to piss him off. Not that changing the tire was any big deal. He would have it done and be back on the road again in less than twenty. It was the fact that now he was going to be late, that was really bothering him.

Showing up early and ready to go, minus one shaggy-haired brother, might get overlooked. Showing up late, no matter the excuse, and minus one shaggy haired brother would earn him an ass-chewing not soon forgotten.

Dean, unlike his brother, had learned early on in life that going above and beyond John's wishes was the easiest way to stay off the man's bitch list. It was a simple matter of: do it faster, do it better, and last, but not least, do it without questioning. That was the key to living with his father in peace.

It was the 'do it without questioning', that had always gotten Sammy in hot water. Unfortunately the kid, starting at an early age, always found it necessary to know not just the how, but the why of things. It was a trait that both Dean and his father encouraged in Sam. If only they would have realized just what kind of monster they'd end up creating, Dean thought with a snort.

Throwing the car in park, Dean grabbed his jacket from the wide leather bench and quickly climbed from the car. Luckily, at midnight the traffic gliding past was minimal. As he headed for the trunk, he gave the rear left flat only a cursory glance. Already focused on the job at hand he quickly slid himself under the rear of his baby and deftly began undoing the bolts that held the spare in place.

888

With an ease that comes from practice, Dean had gotten the spare tire out from beneath the car, had the back end of his girl lifted, and was starting in on the lug nuts when a set of lights separated from the passing traffic and moved up behind the car.

With a curse at what he knew would end up being a delay, Dean winced against the bright light of the headlights and kept working. As soon as a figure stepped from the car, the young hunter waved a hand and shouted, "Just a flat, I'm good."

At his words, the outline leaned back into the car. Suddenly revolving blue lights flashed atop the roof of the vehicle, the police officer slammed shut his door and started walking toward Dean.

"Just great," he mumbled as he continued to work.

"Got everything under control?" the officer asked, his knees popping loudly as he hunched down next to Dean.

Dean flashed him a grin as he kept right on loosening the lug nuts. "Yeah, just a flat. I got it."

The policeman, grizzled and looking to be on the back end of fifty, tipped back his hat and nodded. "Good. Tell you what, kid. You're lucky you didn't get clipped working without the proper safety signs. With this black car and that jacket you're wearing, I barely saw you."

Long ago John Winchester had run through the rules of how to manage cops. Top on his dad's list was "always agree with them". Though Dean had a tendency to run off at the mouth a bit when faced with any kind of authority, he did know when to "hold 'em and when to fold 'em" and right now was definitely a place to hold.

"Sorry, officer, just wanted to get back on the road. Never even gave a thought to the flares I got in the trunk." Dean kept his voice carefully respectful, even as he groaned internally over what else he had in his trunk.

The cop nodded, obviously happy with Dean's tone, and said, "I understand." With a groan, and several more knee-pops, the man in uniform straightened up and stepped away.

"This is some beauty you got here," he said as he ran an admiring gaze over the Impala's glossy black paint.

Dean had to admit; in the glow of the cruiser's headlights his 'baby' did look exceptionally sweet. Lug nuts now gone; he slid the tire off and set it aside. He then got the spare in place and hefted it onto the shaft. "Thanks," he said with pride as he stood up for a moment to stretch the kinks out of his back.

"Impala, right?" the officer asked as he slowly walked around the car, eyeballing the vehicle.

Normally, Dean would have figured the guy was checking him out, looking for any red flags. However, genuine appreciation for the car was clear in his expression. Much like a proud Papa, Dean couldn't help but grin. "A '67"

"Whew, she is a beaut," the officer praised as his hand ghosted over the car's paint. Like any true car aficionado, the man was careful not to touch or allow his coat to drag against the finish.

"Yup," Dean preened before dropping back down onto the gravel shoulder to tighten the lugs on the spare.

"Let me guess, big block? 427?"

"You got it," he affirmed as he started in on yet another lug.

The cop let out a loud whistle and gave the car one long last look. "She is cherry."

As Dean finished up he and the officer spent a few more moments discussing cars, the Impala specifically. Though, he knew the half-hour lead he'd had was quickly dissipating, Dean couldn't help but enjoy listening to his fellow fanatic slaver over his baby.

Though his father spent a large part of his youth, living and breathing Detroit metal, he rarely gained any enjoyment from vehicles now a days. To him, the Impala, and his own pickup were merely tools. Meant to be kept in top-notch condition, not out of love, but because your life might just depend on them.

As for Sammy, the kid seemed to have missed the grease monkey gene all together. Though both Dean and John had done there best to show him, his kid brother seemed to have some sort of mental block when it came to cars.

At last, spare in place, Dean got ready to stash the flat back under the car.

"Huh, thought the spare to these things were kept in the trunk?" The cop suddenly asked.

Given the fact that his father had long ago altered the trunk for less than honest reasons, Dean was glad he was hidden under the bumper instead of face to face with the police officer.

"Owner before me altered it, I just never changed it back," Dean offered, hoping it would be enough.

"I'm sure that extra trunks space comes in handy. Though, god knows, the classics already have trunks big enough to stash a body in."

Dean joined in with the cop's low chuckle as he gained his feet. Dusting off his jeans as best he could, he held out a hand and said, "Thanks for stopping."

Tipping his hat, the cop nodded and said, "Now you just remember those road flare's next time. Don't want you or your girl, here, getting dinged up for something as dumb as a flat tire.

"Will do, officer," Dean replied as he opened the driver's side door and slid behind the wheel. He watched in the rearview as the cop got into his own car, before carefully easing out into traffic. Mindful of his tail, Dean kept to the speed limit, cursing his bad luck the whole way.

Earlier today he'd spent an hour pouring over maps of West Virginia and Kentucky to pick the best route. However, sticking with said route wasn't going to work this time, not as long as Smokey continued to follow him. Decision made, Dean chose to take the second right he came to.

There on the corner, was a small sign proclaiming 15 miles to Lovely, Kentucky. The hunter had seen and noted the town as he'd followed the progression of Route 292. Confident he could find his way and maybe even shave off a few minutes off the trip; Dean glanced into his rearview and watched the cruiser speed past him.

Free at last to put the pedal down, Dean turned the volume up on the stereo and prepared to make some time.

888

Christine leaned slightly forward, eyes straining for any sign of civilization. Though she was loathe to admit it at some point her navigating skills had obviously failed. They were dead lost. The worst part was Julie was fading fast.

Her friend though game enough, just couldn't physically stay awake any longer. She knew Julie would deny it if asked but Christine was certain she'd seen her 'resting' her eyes more and more for the last ten minutes.

At last ready to call it quits and chance sleeping on the narrow shoulder of the one lane road they were traveling, Christine opened her mouth to tell her friend. Instead, she snapped it shut and leaned even farther forward.

Forehead practically touching the windshield, she focused on the tiny pinpoint of light she could see growing steadily larger. Afraid to say anything for fear the dot was a figment of her overtired imagination, she waited a moment longer.

The light continued to grow, until she could clearly make out its source. The warm glow was coming from a lamppost that marked the end of an overgrown driveway. Content in the knowledge that even if they didn't go all the way to the house, they'd at least be able to park in the drive, Christine pointed and said, "There, see the light?"

The car jerked sideways as her friend gasped suddenly. "Huh?"

More certain than ever stopping was the smart thing to do, Christine pointed again and said, "Just pull in, we'll worry about chainsaw wielding psycho's later."

"I don't know Chris, this place is a mess," Julie said as she carefully nosed the car into the drive.

"Well, mess or not we're out of choices." Christine's words brooked no argument but she couldn't beat down the fissure of unease that snaked up her spine.

They moved up the driveway at a snail's pace. At every curve they encountered, Christine fought off a sudden urge to yell 'stop'. There was just something about the heavily wooded area that didn't inspire confidence. The fact that it was late and they were in the mountains of Kentucky didn't help.

Just then, as they crested the last rise, the driveway widened and she found herself staring at a tiny, white, two-story, clapboard, house. As Julie parked the car, Christine focused on the home itself.

A warm buttery light shone from each of the four facing windows. Stone steps led to a solid-looking green door. On each step there was a large planter, with a profusion of blooms, lending the entrance a welcoming look.

"Oh, thank god," Julie breathed as she shut down the engine and pulled out the key. "I was seriously expecting the Bate's house."

Christine nodded happily. "Looks pretty good, right? Plus, seems like they're still awake which is a bonus. Maybe they can point us towards Lovely."

Both girls climbed out of the car and immediately began stretching and groaning. Even at the tender age of twenty, there was only so much time one could spend cooped up in a car without feeling the effects.

"You bringing in your purse?" Julie asked with one hand on her oversized bag.

With a shrug, Christine answered, "I'm not gonna bother. Just lock the car."

Christine continued to eye the dark countryside as she waited for her friend to lock up the car and toss her keys in the front pocket of her purse.

Ready at last the two girls shared one long glance before moving toward the door. Christine had to admit now that it came down to knocking on some stranger's door, she was more than a little nervous despite how nice the place looked.

Full of trepidation, Christine moved up the stone stairs first and reached to knock on the green door. As they waited, she found herself wanting to grab Jules and head for the car. This was such a bad idea, she couldn't believe they'd even considered it.

"No one's home, Chris. Let's just go," Julie said, sounding as nervous as Christine felt.

She was a breath away from agreeing when the door in front of them was suddenly flung wide.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Chapter Notes:**

Okay so here we go again. Just wanted to mention that though this is not a sequel to my story "Fall River" it may be mentioned a time or two. I kinda think of this as more of a companion piece to Fall but it is completely not neccessary that you read it.

Also I'd like to thank Fredo as always for putting up with my blather and for being my sounding board. She always gets the roughest drafts and yet is always supportive. Another thanks goes out to Laura for beta'ing this...I've been sending it to her in bits and pieces all week and she just ran through it for me so I could post on time. - kel ;)

**Chapter 2**

**Chapter End Notes:**

Well, hopefully you're diggin it so far. I will be posting next Wednesday and I'd love to hear what you're thinking so far. Reviews really are like gold - Kel ;)

As the door swung open, Julie took an involuntary step back. Only Christine's death grip prevented her from bolting altogether.

Every instinct she possessed cried out that knocking on a stranger's door in the middle of the night was a bad idea. Maybe even the worst idea ever. Problem was she couldn't see that they had many other options. At least any that didn't suck out loud as well.

As the man who'd opened the door stepped into the glow of the porch light, Julie felt her anxiety lessen slightly.

The man was smiling congenially; however, there seemed to be a bit of hesitation in his eyes. Obviously, he wasn't used to receiving late night visitors.

"Well, now," he said in a deep slightly accented voice, "You two are a bit old to be selling Girl Scout cookies."

A slight smile tugged at Julie's full lips at his words.

"You often get Girl Scouts after midnight?" Christine teased.

The gentleman, and really with his thick silver hair and velvet robe covering a pair of striped pajamas he could be called nothing else, smiled even wider and quipped, "Too true, I'm sure such behavior would be heavily frowned upon by even the most over-zealous of troop leaders."

Julie's smile turned full-fledged at his words and Christine laughed outright.

"I'm sure," Christine agreed.

Julie could see her friend was rapidly losing focus. The two of them had been awake since they'd left Tennessee at five o'clock this morning and fatigue was seriously beginning to drag them down. The tiny brunette was starting to flag, even as Julie watched her begin her explanation for their sudden appearance.

"We're lost," Christine said with a wry smile. "We were looking for this town called, Lovely, but..."

"You're driveway was the first sign of civilization we've seen all night," Julie piped up.

The man's slightly curious expression turned to one of pity and he nodded. "You're right, there's not much to be found out here. You are a bit off track, Lovely's nearly 20 miles from here. You must have missed the turn onto Rt. 292."

"Figures," Christine muttered. Shaking it off, the petite girl smiled her best smile at the man before them and asked, "We were wondering if we could spend the night in your driveway? We'll just catch a couple Z's and be off in the morning."

Julie relaxed at her friend's suggestion. It was the best of both worlds. They'd be well off the roadway, and yet safe behind the locked doors of the car. She was confident by the light of day they'd manage to find their way out of the mountains.

The stranger, however, seemed slightly reluctant. Julie really couldn't blame the guy. After all, who in their right mind would willingly invite strangers to squat on their property, even if it was only a couple of lost twenty-year-olds?

"We won't be a bother," Christine insisted.

The silver-haired man drew his already tall frame up and huffed out an indignant noise. "Of course you'd be no bother. You both look like nice girls, the last thing I would believe is that you would do me any harm. I just do not like the idea of you spending what's left of the night cramped into the front seat of your automobile."

Needing to put the man at ease, Julie insisted, "You'd be doing us a huge favor, really."

With a decisive nod, the gentleman said, "Of course you can stay here. I suppose I can't talk you two into staying in the spare room, can I?"

At that moment, as a welcoming heat poured from the interior of the house making the chilly night air seem even cooler, Julie actually considered his offer. Then there was the smell, a mixture of cinnamon and something slightly tangy. If Julie had to put a name to it she'd guess apples. Whatever it was, the combination was making her stomach clench in hunger.

Christine gave a firm shake of her head and said, "We appreciate the offer, but no thanks. We'll be fine."

With a nod, the man moved to close the door slightly. "Well, feel free to knock if you need anything."

"Actually," Christine said, before he could fully shut the door, "if we could just use your bathroom for a moment."

The man beamed, as he opened the door wide and gestured for them to enter. "Of course, how silly of me, bathroom's straight through the kitchen."

888

The house was as neatly kept on the inside as it was on the out. The entry was painted a welcoming pumpkin color. In the muted light, coming from a brass overhead fixture the color of the walls lent it a warmth that was tangible. Flooring made of a rich dark colored wood lacked the high gloss that was so coveted, instead the wood held a patina that was more suitable given its surroundings.

Picture frames of different shapes, sizes and materials lined the short hall at regular intervals. The smiling faces that stared down upon her begged to be studied, but Julie ignored the urge and kept moving.

Now that they'd done the unthinkable and entered the stranger's home it seemed wisest to get in and out as quickly as possible.

Her friend, however, seemed to share none of her qualms as she openly studied the pictures they passed.

"Are these of family?" She asked as she pointed toward a, yellowed with age, daguerreotype.

"Not family, no. I've picked them up here and there. I'm something of a collector of faces."

The stranger's smooth voice came from just behind Julie, startling her. She hadn't realized he was quite so close.

"Cool," Christine replied as she stopped completely to study yet another picture.

"Excuse me," the man asked as he slid past. "Well, I wouldn't know about cool. Some find my little hobby a bit weird."

Julie could imagine they did at that. To live under the watchful eyes of the photographs would creep her out.

Now in the lead their host turned and ushered them into the larger room with a bit of a flourish and a slight bow. "Ladies, welcome."

Christine giggled slightly at the blue-eyed man's courtly manners. She made a slight curtsy and drawled, "Why thank you kind, sir."

"Sir?" he said with a deep chuckle. "Sir won't do at all. You may call me Smith."

Julie found the common name to be a bit of a surprise. If asked she would have assumed he'd have a more exotic handle.

"Smith? With that accent?" Christine asked, her pixyish face alight with good humor.

"Yes, well, when I left my homeland, I decided to start fresh, to begin anew. John Smith was about as American as you could get."

"Where are you from originally?" Julie asked.

"I'm from Greece, but it's been many years since I left. Now, who do I have here?" He asked, gesturing toward them both.

"My name's Christine and this is Julie."

Julie flipped her hand up in a little wave as she took in the room they now stood in. It was a combination of kitchen and dining area.

Hundreds more photos hung on the walls, some even adorned the large hutch that stood sentry against the far wall. Though the appliances looked to be original, they were in pristine shape. The bright white of the antique refrigerator and stove stood out against the chocolate brown walls.

"What a beautiful home," Christine murmured as she carefully trailed one finger over the nearest wall. "You could teach Martha Stewart a thing or two on how to sponge paint," she said as she indicated the faux finish.

She had to agree with her friend, she couldn't imagine how long it had taken to achieve the textured look.

With a small laugh, Smith waved a hand and demurred, "It's all Martha. I just love her magazine. She really is a fascinating woman."

Julie carefully controlled her amusement as she met Christine's sly wink. She found she had little trouble imaging this man, dressed in overalls as he studied Martha's helpful hints to rag painting.

"The bathroom?" Julie asked, more than ready for some shuteye.

"Certainly, it's that door right there."

Julie nodded her thanks as she moved toward the white four-paneled door he indicated. Just before she ducked inside, she caught Christine's gaze. She wasn't sure what the protocol was for leaving a friend behind while peeing in a stranger's house. Chris's reassuring nod made it clear the petite brunette was confident everything would be okay.

"I'll be out in a sec," she called as she darted inside.

888

Christine placed a hand over her mouth as she felt another jaw-popping yawn coming on. She really was exhausted. "Sorry," she said with a wave of her hand, once she was able to speak.

"No need to apologize, It's late and you two have obviously been on the road for a while."

"Yeah, nearly two months now," she affirmed as she continued proudly, "we've seen the entire lower 48."

"Well, now, that is truly something," Smith replied grandly as he clapped his hands together.

Pride straightened Christine's tired spine and she smiled. "Yeah, well it's been an adventure that's for sure. We're on our way home now."

"And home is where?" Smith's smile seemed genuine as he urged her to continue.

"Actually, home for the moment is Delaware. We go to Wesley."

"Really, now if asked I would have bet you were sisters."

Christine frowned slightly at the statement. She couldn't imagine how anyone could ever mistake them for sisters. At four foot eleven, Christine made petite people seem tall. Julie on the other hand normally towered over most of their girlfriends. At five foot ten, she made willowy an art form.

Then there was their coloring. Christine's hair was naturally dark, nearly black in all but the brightest of lights. Along with her dark hair, she'd inherited her Italian mother's olive complexion. Julie on the other hand had the slivery blond hair of her Scandinavian ancestors.

"Really? We don't look anything alike."

Smith waved toward the door where Julie had disappeared and said, "No of course not, there's just something about your mannerisms."

With a burst of laughter, Christine admitted, "Well, I guess when you spend two months in each other's pockets you start to act alike."

"I'm sure," he agreed with an easy laugh as he walked toward the fridge. "Can I interest you in a drink?

Christine was tempted, they'd run through their provisions earlier in the day and she was near to starving. However, regardless of how nice this guy seemed, accepting food or drinks from him screamed stupidity. "Naw, We're-"

She cut off her words, as Smith produced a bottle of Evian from the depths of his fridge. The offer of a cold bottle of water was more than she could refuse. Plus, as an added bonus, she would easily be able to tell if the bottle had been tampered with. With a nod, she stepped forward and accepted the drink. "Thanks," she breathed as she tried to eye the seal without being obvious.

"Good I'll just leave one here for Julie," he said as he set the bottle on the countertop. "I'm just going to run upstairs for a few blankets. You two'll sleep easier if you're warm."

"Please, don't go to any trouble."

Smith held up one hand and smiled gently. "Trust me, its no trouble at all. I'll be right back."

Christine nodded her thanks and cracked open the lid of her water.

"What are you doing?"

Christine had drained nearly the entire bottle when Julie's sharp tone caused her to gasp and choke. Gasping for breath, she at last rasped, "Drinking, what does it look like I'm doing?"

"It looks like you're trying to get yourself poisoned," Julie hissed as she crossed the long room.

"The bottle's sealed," Christine snapped back with an annoyed huff. "I double checked."

Julie's expression remained sour as she gestured, "Yeah, cause it's not possible to poison something without taking off the lid. He probably stuck a syringe through the plastic and dosed it with some kind of paralyzing drug."

Chris rolled her eyes and flipped her friend off as she said, "See, not paralyzed. You watch too much Dateline. This guy is perfectly harmless."

"That's what they all say," Julie ground out, "Just before they grind you up and you're made into burgers."

"I promise I have no intention of eating either of you. I'm a vegetarian," Smith said as he re-entered the kitchen.

This time Christine's mouthful of water went out instead of in, spraying a fine mist all over her friend. With an embarrassed laugh, she played along. "That's just as well, I'm sure we'd be tough as nails to chew."

"Right," Smith said with a grin that lit up his blue eyes "And you'd taste just like chicken."

Even Julie cracked a smile at Smith's teasing words. "I'm sorry, I just..."

"Worry," he finished, as he set an armful of blankets on the kitchen table. "I would be suspicious if you weren't. Now-a-days, a person can't be too careful."

"Right," Julie replied with a smug glance toward Christine.

Christine knew that look; it was the blonde's told-you-so look. She'd seen it often enough over the life of their friendship to recognize it easily. Determined to ignore it this time, Christine set her water onto the cabinet and made her way to the bathroom. Closing the door with a flourish, she consoled herself with the idea that this time tomorrow, when they were once more on the right track, she could give Julie a big old 'I told you so".

888

"I am whipped." Christine yawned and drew her blanket up around her shoulders.

Julie, who'd already pushed back her seat as far as it would go to accommodate her long legs, grunted her agreement. It had been a long day topped by an even longer night.

They had left their host in his cozy house over ten minutes ago armed with two thick woolen blankets. Given the cold night air, the lavender scented covers were a blessing. Despite her earlier reservations about the stranger, he'd more than proved himself to be one of the few 'good guys'.

Confident that not even the discomfort of sleeping behind the wheel would keep her awake, Julie snuggled into the vinyl seat and let out a sigh of contentment.

"We should bake Smith a cake and mail it to him," Christine mumbled just as Julie was drifting off.

Julie snickered and replied, "We'll do one of Martha's."

Christine agreed with a chuckle, "Perfect."

Julie's last conscious thought as she drifted off to sleep was one of warmth and contentment.

888

John Smith parted the lace curtains and glanced out the window. From here, he could clearly make out the tiny car that was parked in his driveway. He could even make out Julie fast asleep, her face pressed against the driver's side window. Given her height the leggy blonde had to be uncomfortable stuffed behind the wheel of her Ford Focus.

Christine on the other hand was probably snug as a bug in the tiny car. He had admired the girl's spunk, and he had a feeling if not for the caution of her friend, she would have gladly taken refuge in the house for the night.

As he turned from the window and cast an eye over the room, he couldn't help but compare his two new acquaintances. While they were both as physically dissimilar as two people could be, he honestly thought them sisters. There was something about their mannerisms that clearly echoed each other.

The single twin bed that sat dead center in the room was ready to go. Handcuffs, so much easier to maneuver than chains, hung from each of the posts, and the drop cloth was positioned perfectly under the bed. Instead of a mattress, strips of canvas provided the bedding. Stained from years of use, the materials were still in excellent condition, he periodically removed any pieces that were showing signs of wear of fraying.

Satisfied the bed was in order, he turned his attention to another set of handcuffs bolted to the floor by the closet. Though he could only lavish his attention on one person at a time, he'd found his guests often arrived in pairs. That had made the addition of the handcuffs a necessity.

Plus, he had to admit, he found greater satisfaction when there were two people to ply his trade on. Especially if they were related, or if, like the girls sleeping so peacefully below, they shared a connection.

Prepared and eager to begin, Smith left the room and started up the stairs. It had been three months since his last traveler had wandered up the long drive and months of abstaining had left him hungering all the more. Now to have two such perfect specimens dropped in his lap had to be divine providence. Well, he amended with a chuckle as he headed toward the front door, maybe not divine.

888

Dean tapped a rhythm on the steering wheel as he negotiated another difficult turn. He wasn't sure how it had happened, but after forty minutes of driving and no sign of the town of Lovely he knew he was lost.

Well, he amended to himself, not lost. He never got lost. He was merely off track for the moment. The dark night and twisting mountain roads weren't helping either. Navigating and driving was never an easy thing, especially, when you were leery of taking your eyes off the dark strip of macadam for even a moment.

"Damn," he griped as he thumped the wheel a bit harder.

He'd gone from late to meeting his father to worried he wasn't going to make it at all. The worst thing was he knew that if he were late to show, John would head out without him. His dad would be unable to live with himself if another child was hurt while he sat around waiting for backup.

Worry for his father had Dean regretting his decision to let Sammy off the hook. If the teen had been sitting in the passenger seat, with a map spread across his lap like he was supposed to, then Dean would never have ended up lost.

With a snort of amusement, he slowed even more. He couldn't believe that he was actually wishing his mule of a brother was sitting in the car with him. Then again, even a pissed off Sam was better than being lost in the mountains.

He was half-tempted to give his new cell phone a go. John had picked it up nearly two weeks ago and had given it to Dean once he had promised to keep it on hand and charged at all times. It now rested in the glove compartment ready to go, but Dean still hesitated. To call his father was to admit he was lost. He wasn't quite ready to go that route yet.

However, the idea of waking his baby brother up from a peaceful nights sleep held a lot more appeal.

Decision made, Dean leaned sideways and groped for the release on the glove box. Once the door dropped open, he reached inside and began rooting around for the phone. He had to admit, as wary as he'd been when first presented with the wireless phone, it had already come in handy a couple of times.

Cell in hand he recalled the house number and began dialing. With his left hand on the wheel, Dean shuffled the phone, and hit send with his thumb. As he drove, he counted the rings with glee as he imagined each one was a tiny little boot kicking his brother's ass out of la-la land.

At the fourth ring, the phone in his hand suddenly cut off. Unsure of what was wrong, Dean glanced at the screen only to see the call had been dropped

He was beginning to re-dial when a flash of movement caught his peripheral vision. Hoping it was an animal, he dropped the phone, brought both hands up to the wheel, and his boot down on the brake.

Despite his quick reaction and the car's response time, Dean couldn't stop himself from sliding into the flash of white that had first drawn his attention. With a thud that made him want to vomit, the Impala came to a final shuddering halt. Taking only enough time to put the car in gear and cut the engine, he was out of his seat and racing toward the front of the car.

The sight of a body curled up just under the grill left him cursing long and fluently. He'd had hit a woman. The beams of the headlights highlighted her long silvery hair and Dean was just able to make out her battered face.

"Hey, you okay?" he asked lamely as he took a knee next to the shuddering victim.

At the sound of his voice, the woman screamed. The bloodcurdling sound was enough to make him jump back. Now up on her knees, she was trying to wedge herself under the car as she cried out repeatedly.

"No...no...don't touch me," she cried over and over again.

Suspicions on overdrive, Dean pulled his handgun from the waistband of his jeans and scanned the area. Being hit by a car had to be traumatic; however, the girl was above and beyond any rational upset. Now that he's over his initial surprise, he can't help but wondered where she came from given the rural setting and the fact that he'd passed no cars in the last hour.

The girl was now under the car. Her rasping breath as it sawed in and out of her chest was the only sound she made. If Dean had to guess, he'd assume that in her mind she was now hiding.

Carefully, he eased himself down to the pavement and stretched out. He hated leaving himself exposed to whatever might be roaming the woods, but he had little choice, he couldn't leave the girl to follow her back trail.

Feeling out of his depth, he squeezed himself under the front of the car and spoke softly. "You're safe. I can help you."

He had been wrong about the girl, now that he was closer, he could clearly hear that she was emitting a low whining sound. It reminded him of the noise his brother would make when as a kid he was trapped in a nightmare.

With Sam it had been a simple matter of touch that brought the kid back to awareness. Dean needed to do little more than to wrap an arm around the five year olds shoulder and he would quiet.

However, the idea of touching the obviously terrified woman didn't seem like a good idea. Instead, he settled for talking her out from under the car. After all, it wasn't for nothing that his father claimed no one was better at the con than Dean.

"If you come out, I can help you," Dean murmured, keeping his voice soft and even. "I'm an off duty cop," he continued with a silent plea that he had some form of identification in the car to back up this claim. His father had warned him against keeping false id's in the car since his record was clean. Nothing made a cop more suspicious than a glove box full of false credentials.

"I promise you, I'll help you. You just have to come out. I need to make sure you're okay."

Dean was careful not to move a muscle as he talked. Again, he reiterated, "Listen, I'm a policemen, I can help you, you just have to let me. Just come out. I'm going to slid out and you can follow. I won't try and touch you."

As good as his word, Dean slid out from under the car, and pushed himself up to standing. Another handful of steps backward and he waited. Sure enough just when he was about to go crazy with impatience he saw the girl begin to slid her way out.

She stood wavering in the beam of the headlight. Her left arm was wrapped around her right, the left knee of her pants was ripped out, and there were stains covering her jeans and shirt. The silver blond hair he'd noticed from the first was snarled and tangled with debris. Long scrapes cut across her right cheek and had trailed blood down to the neckline of her long sleeve tee-shirt. One of her shoes was missing. She stood with her left foot just barely brushing the cold blacktop.

Overall, she was a wreck, and the damage hadn't been caused by his run-in with her.

"You're a cop?" she questioned with no inflection at all in her voice.

She could have just as easily been asking him if he were a baker. Obviously she wasn't willing to put any faith in him yet.

Careful to move nothing other than his head, Dean nodded and said, "I can show you my badge, but it's in the car."

The girl took a moment to process his words, before she began to carefully back away from the car. Dean was uncomfortable with the fact that she was edging closer to the woods that lay thick on the side of the road, but he didn't want to scare her more by trying to stop her.

At last when she'd obviously decided she was outside his reach she gestured toward the car and said, "Let me see it."

Erring on the side of caution, Dean kept his eyes and ears open as he slowly crossed to the passenger side of the car. He didn't want the girl to feel anymore threatened than she already did. Keeping his motions slow and obvious he tugged open the heavy steel door and reached in and under the seat.

Four months ago, he'd done a job with his dad in which he'd posed as a Massachusetts's state policeman. His father had made the badge and it would hold up well to nearly any examination. As he pulled out the cigar box he kept hidden under the seat, he rifled through his father's ID's hoping that the badge was still in the mix.

He nearly crowed in relief when he came across the credentials. At this point, if the girl noticed that he was out of his 'jurisdiction', he doubted she'd really care. After all, a cop was a cop when you needed one.

With the badge in hand, he straightened up and held it out so she could see it. Given the dim light he doubted she was able to make out much than his picture, but it seemed good enough for her.

"Thank god," she whispered just before she dropped to the ground in a heap.

Dean, unable to catch her in time, rushed to her side with a wince as he heard her head hit the ground with a thump.

"Damn," he exclaimed as he carefully rolled her onto her back. With one last fleeting thought to his father waiting for him, he began to assess her injuries.

888

John Winchester glanced down at his watch once more and then paced to the plate glass window that lined the front of his motel room. With the flick of his wrist, he twitched aside the heavy double-paned drapes and glared out at the motel parking lot. Not much had changed in the past ten minutes; his black pick-up was still the only vehicle sitting under the bright halogen lights of the parking lots.

The problem with John's view was that the Impala wasn't sitting next to the truck like it was supposed to be. With a growl, he released the curtain and headed back to the small round table draped with paperwork. His journal sat in the center of the mess, flipped open to a fresh page.

As he settled at the table, he began to troll through the research he'd found and comparing it to the information he'd gotten from Bobby. The older hunter had proved time and again to be an invaluable source. John wasn't above going to him for help, but he always erred on the side of caution and confirmed the information.

Confident that his boys would show up soon, John dipped his head and began to write.

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Chapter Notes:**

Okay here we go again. I have to appologize first off because this story has not been fully beta'd. Laura very graciously looked over a part of it, but I simply did not get the rest to her in time. So as always any mistakes are completely mine. - Catch you next week - Kel ;)

**Chapter 3**

"Please," Christine moaned as she yanked the metal cuffs that encircled her wrists. "Please, just let me go."

Smith smiled at the young girl that lay spread eagle on his very special bed. She was positioned dead center in the middle of the dirty mattress, her arms and legs cuffed to the frame. He'd chosen the petite young lady to go first for the simple reason that she was the shorter of the two.

Though experience had taught him that regardless of his guest's size the payout would be fantastic, he had learned, as any connoisseur would agree, there was something to be said for delayed gratification.

He eagerly rubbed his hands together in anticipation for the fun that was to come. Talk about delayed gratification, he hadn't had one this short since he'd offered his help to a man and his nine year old daughter over three years ago.

Normally he stayed away from children for the simple fact that they gave up too quickly, at the time, however, his longing to practice his craft had overcome his dislike. He'd been right, in so far, as she had given up quickly, his disappointment hadn't lasted though as he found her supple body more than made up for her lack of fight.

As Christine continued to beg and plead, her words nearly incoherent, Smith glanced outside the bedroom window at the abandoned car. A slight frown marred his handsome features as he stared at the wide-open driver's side door. Even from here, he could make out the dent that now resided in the front quarter panel.

The fact that the blonde had managed to escape him only served to increase his interest in her. The trouble she'd already caused him proved she was fighter, breaking her would be a challenge.

He had no doubt Julie was under the impression that there was help to be found. She'd soon find just how mistaken she was.

His home's harsh terrain had driven off even the most intrepid of people. Abandoned years ago, the road he lived upon was a winding stretch of nothing.

Even before '64 when President Johnson had visited Kentucky, to declare his war on poverty, the road was seldom traveled. Then with the advent of the highway, it had become nothing more than a dimly remembered sightseeing route.

The last three decades had been lean ones for Smith. He'd found himself with little choice but to gain satisfaction in the few wanderers that had the misfortune to need directions, gas or mechanical help. The advent of cell phones hadn't helped, though he was lucky considering the fact that cell reception was often shoddy at best in the valleys and peaks he called home.

No, there was no chance Julie would make it out alive of that he was certain. As soon as he had Christine settled he'd take to the surrounding forest in search of the willowy young lady. He actually felt a bit of a thrill at the idea, it had been at least a century since he'd needed to forage through wilderness in search of prey.

He only hoped he hadn't lost his touch, he thought with a chuckle as he gave Christine one last glance. "Just stay put, I'm going to go get your friend, and then we shall begin."

Other than the tears that ran from her eyes in rivers, there wasn't a mark to be found on the diminutive brunette. His plan for her had gone like clockwork. Picking the lock on the car had been a breeze and the ether soaked handkerchief had done the trick. The young girl had no idea anything was even wrong until the moment she'd awoken strapped to the iron bedstead.

"Please, leave her alone," Christine moaned, her huge brown eyes wide with fright.

Like a rabbit caught in a snare, her shaking increased as he leaned closer. He only stopped once he loomed over her, and then with a mild smile, he said, "It warms my cold jaded heart that you want to keep me from your friend. I just knew you two shared a special bond."

"Don't hurt her," Christine begged as she pulled against her restraints. "Don't you dare."

"Oh, come now. Everything is going to be fine. Take comfort in the fact that soon you won't be alone," Smith said as he headed for the exit.

Eager to find Julie before dawn, he made a quick stop in his bedroom to exchange the chinos and buttoned down shirt he'd been wearing for a tee-shirt and bib-overalls. After all, if he were going hunting, he wanted to make sure he looked the part.

888

Dean eased her to the blacktop and went over his assessment. Near as he could tell the girl had a dislocated shoulder, a bump on her head that screamed concussion and was covered in a mess of bruises. It looked as though someone had done their damndest to beat the hell out of her. If Dean was any judge, they had very nearly succeeded.

As he straightened, he cast a wary eye over the surrounding forest. His hand automatically straying toward the pistol tucked into the waistband of his jeans. He paused at the last minute not wanting to tip his hand to the unseen eyes he felt sure were watching him.

Whoever had done this didn't seem willing to risk a confrontation to get her back. At least, he amended to himself, not a direct attack.

He stood undecided for a moment. If he were alone, he would have turned the tables on his would-be stalker. Problem was this time his hands were tied by the girl that lay unconscious on the roadway. He wouldn't be doing her any favors by trying to find her attacker while she lay broken and bruised.

Decision made, the hunter left her side, hurried around the hood of the car, and swung the rear passenger door wide open. Normally, the car door's familiar creek was a balm to his soul. Tonight however, given the circumstances, it seemed more like a calling card to every bit of nasty that roamed the heavily wooded forest.

Ready at last, he returned to the girl's side and took a knee. With regret, he hefted her into his arms and settled her against his chest. He had no doubt he was causing her pain. Given her dislocated shoulder, any kind of motion had to be agony, but he had little choice. Treating her here wasn't an option. He needed to get her somewhere safe before he could help her.

Hating the helpless feeling that crept up his spine as he placed his back toward the trees, he moved toward the open door. Quickly and efficiently, he slid her onto the leather bench seat and straightened. The fact that she didn't cry out when he set her down, made him think the lump she was sporting had done more damage than he'd first thought.

Once she was loaded, he gave the area one last long look. He hated the idea of leaving the bastard who'd hurt her running free, but he really had little choice in the matter. Finding her help had to be his first goal. With an oath, Dean climbed into the black car and fired her up.

With the engine's rumble soothing his anxiety, he fumbled for the phone he'd dropped earlier. Then his intent had been to find a way off this damn mountain. His priorities however had changed. His new goal was to find the girl medical treatment and hopefully a cop to turn the situation over to. He didn't have time to track down this girl's boyfriend, or whoever it was that had felt the need to beat her to a pulp, and return the favor.

After he'd managed to snag the phone out from under the break pedal, he dialed the number for information. While he did, he put the car in gear intent on getting away from any danger that might be lurking. With no real destination in mind, he began to cruise.

This time he didn't even get two rings before the phone cut out. A glance at the screen showed that his signal level was nonexistent. With a curse, he dropped the useless hunk of junk onto the seat next to him and concentrated on the road.

He couldn't help but roll his eyes as he thought of his father's reaction to his current situation. Only a son of John Winchester would manage to find himself in the middle of nowhere with an unconscious girl on his hands.

888

Something was wrong, of that Julie had no doubt. Her head pounded in time to her heartbeat, each throb causing her already nauseas stomach to roil uneasily. Unsure of what was going on, she worked to keep still and tried to get her bearings.

The lack of Christine's soft snore was her first clue that things weren't right. Her friend was a great companion, with only one true flaw. She snored. It wasn't anything earth shaking, but the slight whistle she made when she slept was a constant that Julie could count on. On rare occasions, when she found herself having trouble drifting off, she often focused on the noise allowing it to lull her into sleep.

Now however, the absence of that small sound seemed like the biggest void of all.

Her next clue that all wasn't right with the world, was the throaty growl of the car she could feel moving beneath her. Her Focus, while good on gas, could never achieve such a powerful sound. At best, it only ever managed a soft purr.

No longer able to put of the inevitable, Julie forced her eyes open and stared up at the taupe colored ceiling above her. The car she was traveling in was also much roomier than her Ford. The backseat that she lay sprawled across left her feeling only slightly cramped.

"You're awake?" a deep voice asked her.

Julie's gaze flickered toward the person she could just make out in the driver's seat. The figure never turned to check on her, but as she sat up slightly she could make out his direct gaze in the rear-view mirror.

"What happened?" she whispered, more to herself than to the man driving. She could remember only bits and pieces of the last few hours and the images all seemed to jumble themselves together into one big mess.

"You ran out into the middle of the road, I nearly hit you," the man answered obviously not understanding her question had been rhetorical.

Julie carefully cleared her throat and asked, "You're a cop? Right?"

Again, his gaze darted toward the rear-view as he met her own. It was too dark to tell what the color was but she couldn't help but take his straightforward manner as a good sign.

"I'm taking you to get help."

Judging by the pain in her shoulder, Julie had to admit, help was a good idea. As she eased back onto the black leather seat, she draped her good hand across her eyes and allowed the engine noise to soothe her panic.

"Can you tell me what happened?" the man asked at last breaking her reverie.

"Christine and I were-"

With a gasp, Julie sat up nearly vaulted over the bench seat as she scanned the front of the car for her friend. As she realized that Christine wasn't with her the last hour of her life caught up to her with horrifying clarity.

"Stop the car," she screamed the sound so loud she felt a stab of pain in her throat.

Given her position it was lucky for her that the driver didn't heed her panicked order. Instead of slamming on the breaks and consequently throwing her through the windshield, he slowed down gently and put the car in park.

"Calm down, you're safe now," he said his hands held up in a gesture of surrender.

"Christine! That monster's got my friend. You have to go back," Julie ordered without a hint of pleading. "Now!" she nearly screamed.

The man, whom she noticed couldn't be much older than herself, winced, and reached out to touch her shoulder. "Calm down," he ordered.

"You don't understand, that freak's going to grind her up into hamburger, we have to go back."

Though she wasn't quite certain where the hamburger reference came into play, Julie knew that her sentiment was right. Christine was in trouble if she wasn't already... "Please, I need to go back."

888

Unsure of how much of the girl's babbling was reality and how much was a reaction to the thump she'd taken, Dean struggled to get a coherent answer out of the young woman. "Just calm down and tell me what you can."

Instead of replying to his question, the blonde lunged for the door handle and in her haste seemed unable to work out how to open it. Even more convinced that the knock on her head had jumbled her senses, Dean heaved a sigh and got out of the car.

Going to the door she was still trying to open, he opened the door and hunched down effectively blocking her exit.

"I have to go back. I have to help her," she whined.

At least, Dean thought wearily, she hadn't tried to force her way past him. Having to restrain the already freaked out girl was the last thing he wanted to do. "Listen, you have to stop and talk to me. I can't help your friend if I don't know what's going on."

His words seemed to have some effect as the girl latched onto his hand with her good one and pleaded, "You'll help her? You can help Christine?"

With no clue who Christine was, or even if she was, Dean couldn't honestly answer the question. However, he wasn't the king of bullshit for nothing. "I'll help you both, just calm down."

The girl seemed to take his pledge at face value. With a deep breath that ended in a gasp of pain, she cradled her arm to her chest and sat on the edge of the bench seat, her knees hanging out the door.

Dean remained where he was, crouched in front of the opening, and worked on keeping an eye on both the woods surrounding them and the girl's bruised visage. He hated leaving them both so exposed but until he could suss out what was going on, he doubted he could get the girl to sit quietly while he found a better location to hear her story.

"My name's Julie, my friend Christine and I were road tripping and we got lost," she started.

The hunter nodded, already hating the direction the story was taking. Two young women lost in the mountains of Kentucky was, for so many reasons, not good. "And then?" he asked encouraging her to continue.

"I was just so tired, we were trying to find Lovely, but..."

Here she trailed off as she swiped her sleeve across her nose and sniffed loudly.

Dean suppressed a grimace of disgust and fished inside his jean pocket for the bandana he kept on hand. "Here, it's clean," he offered.

Julie took the red and white cloth in her hands, but didn't apply it to her snotty nose. Instead, she began to twist the material as she continued, "We finally found a driveway. I told Chris it was a bad idea, but she insisted that we could at the least get directions or, if no one was up, park the car in the driveway."

"You went to a stranger's house?" Dean asked not bothering to disguise the disbelief he felt.

The girl flinched at his tone and nodded slightly. "I know. I know it was dumb. I was just so tired," Julie's voice ended in a wail as she sagged forward nearly throwing herself at Dean.

Despite knowing that she'd gotten herself into this mess, whatever kind of mess it was, through stupidity, he couldn't help but feel sorry for her and her friend. With an awkward pat to her shoulder, she really was leaking snot at an alarming rate, he pushed her back carefully and tugged the knotted handkerchief out of her hands.

Careful of the bruising, Dean used the cloth to sop up the majority of her tears. "Here, blow your nose and just spit out what happened."

The girl obeyed his command and with a few last hitching sobs finally seemed somewhat under control. Dean took the opportunity to cast his glance about the darkened road. The feeling of being watched had returned making him uneasy as he crouched low by the car.

At last she spoke, "He seemed so nice, not normal really, but nice. He didn't try an look down our shirts or grope us or anything."

Dean couldn't help but roll his eyes at the fact that the girl consigned people to the nice category simply because they hadn't tried for a free feel. "Okay, then what happened with this nice guy?"

"Um..." she sighed, "we asked if it'd be alright to spend the night in the car, in his driveway. The road's so narrow along here we were afraid to just pull over. We said goodnight and locked ourselves in the car. Next thing I know, I heard a slight scratching noise at the door. I looked over toward Christine and she was gone."

Now that they were at the meat of it, Dean was anxious for her to continue. "Go on."

"For a moment I thought maybe she'd gotten out to grab something from the trunk you know. Or to just stretch or something. Then I heard something click and suddenly the door I was leaning against just sort of fell away. I hit the blacktop hard, cracking the back of my head."

Again, Julie mopped at her face with the now soggy handkerchief. "I just stared up at him for a moment, neither of us moving. I think by falling out of the car, I surprised him as much as he surprised me."

He didn't doubt the guy had expected Julie to sleep through her abduction like her friend had. That extra minute or two of awareness had probably saved her.

"I just panicked. I kicked out with my feet catching him in the leg and he fell backward. I figured that'd be enough, after all he's old enough to be my grandfather. Instead...he...uh...jumped to his feet."

"Jumped?" Dean asked. Not many grandfathers that Dean knew could get off the ground that quick.

Julie's nod was loaded with meaning. "Jumped," she continued. "That's when I knew I was really in trouble. I scrambled to my feet and bolted, but he grabbed a handful of my hair and jerked me back. I hit the side of the car, hard, and nearly blacked out. Before I could move he was hitting me."

"How'd you get away?"

With a one sided shrug Julie said, "I'm not even sure. He'd grabbed my wrist and was just kinda reeling me toward him. I lunged and there was a popping sound, then this pain in my shoulder and I just freaked. I kicked out at him and I think I must have caught him because his grip loosened."

Dean had to give the girl credit, he'd suffered through the pain of a dislocated shoulder more than once, it was nothing to sneeze at. "So that's it? You took off and decided to try your luck at stopping two tons of Detroit steel?"

Julie nodded half-heartedly and wiped her eyes once more.

"Okay, well first things first, into the front seat. We have to find some help or at the very least a place to hole up."

"Christine?"

Dean met Julie's wide-eyed gaze and reassured her, "We'll find her. I promise."

What the hunter refused to promise was that they'd find the girl alive. He was sure the bastard who'd lost Julie had taken his anger out on her friend. As he tucked her into the front seat, with an old blanket he'd grabbed from the truck tucked around her shoulders, he sent a silent plea to the heavens that his dad realize sooner than later that something was wrong.

888

"Time's up! Pencil's down."

Sam gave the essay he'd written one last cursory glance, satisfied he'd aced the exam; he leaned back in his chair with a grin. He couldn't help but feel a bit self-satisfied as he watched a large number of his classmates frantically scribbling away despite Ms. Malcolm's orders. His early morning prep session in the school parking lot had obviously been worth the lack of sleep.

"Looking pretty smug there, Winchester,"

The sound of Jane Macintyre's sweet voice was enough to drive all thoughts of his recently finished test out of his head.

He couldn't help but feel surprised. Sam had sat next to the pretty redhead for the last two months and had never exchanged so much as a word with her. Then again, a voice he couldn't help but think of as his brother's pointed out, he hadn't managed so much as a coherent word to her either.

Tongue-tied wasn't something Dean had much sympathy for. His brother had never had an awkward moment in his life when it came to girls. With his lean build, good looks and rakish charm, girls and the occasional woman, flocked to him in droves.

Sam on the other hand, could never quite figure out what to say. His confidence wasn't helped by the fact that he'd grown nearly 5 inches this summer, leaving him feeling like he was all arms and legs. Not even the fact he'd lost the last of his baby fat with his latest growth spurt helped to make him feel less awkward.

John had smiled sympathetically at his clumsiness and had assured his youngest that he would get used to his newfound height sooner rather than later. Dean on the other hand, spent his time reenacting some of Sam's less graceful moments. The pratfalls were so accurately done that even their gruff-faced father had cracked a smile or two.

Suddenly self-conscience, Sam sat forward and glanced toward Jane. Her expectant blue-eyed gaze made it clear she was waiting for his reply. Trying to appear nonchalant, he smiled and gestured with his pencil. "I'm--"

Sam cut off his reply when the pencil he held slipped from his grip and landed with a clatter on the floor between him and Jane. Without thinking, the youngest Winchester dove for his trusty number two.

The tips of his fingers just slid along the edge of the pencil when something slammed into his forehead. With a cry of pain, he swept his hand up to his forehead and gingerly felt the spot that was already forming a good-sized lump. His eyes still watering in pain, Sam glanced toward Jane and groaned once more for good measure when he noted her hand prodding the ridge of her brow.

Confident he had now officially lost any chance he might have ever had with the redhead; he figured he might as well be honest. "Guess I bobbed when I should have weaved," he joked lamely.

Instead of completely blowing up at him, and really she had every right given the alarming way her eye was swelling, Jane surprised him by bursting into laughter. Eyes watering with mirth, or perhaps pain, Sam really wasn't sure which, she rocked back in her seat and continued to giggle helplessly.

Somewhat alarmed that she was bordering on hysteria, Sam questioned, "You okay?"

Gulping down her laughter, the blue-eyed girl nodded and gently touched the growing bruise that was already beginning to show given her pale skin. "Think so. How's it look?"

Sam couldn't help but wince as he held out a hand and made a see-saw gesture. "Honestly? Not good."

Jane's laughter trilled across the noisy classroom once more as she began to root around in the purse that hung on her chair. As she drew out a small round mirror she winked with her good eye and said, "I'm sure it's not that-"

Her squeal of horror was nothing if not genuine. "Oh, my god," she wailed as she took in her now swollen brow and purple eye.

Desperate to make a bad situation better, Sam blurted out, "Why don't I walk you to the nurse? Some ice'll help."

Jane pulled her gaze from her reflection and nodded in Sam's direction. "It will?"

Experience had him nodding firmly. "Definitely."

Obviously, in a hurry to stop the swelling, Jane popped up and began gathering her books. Sam jumped out of his own seat and grabbed his own things. Slinging his backpack on, he stepped around his chair and reached for Jane's books just as she dipped forward to pick up the stack.

Lucky for them, Sam was able to pull back at the last minute avoiding yet another crash. Ready to just give up before he managed to give the girl a concussion. Sam backed up a step and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

Jane, however, seemed unfazed by his attempts to end her life. With a rueful grin, she handed him the stack of books and preceded him down the aisle.

Feeling more at ease than he had in months, he happily followed her lead. As she smooth talked their way past Ms. Malcolm he couldn't help but feel as if for once he'd gotten the better deal than his brother.

Right now, poor Dean was probably hotfooting it through some forest while John barked orders. He had no doubt if given the choice between a pretty girl and camping, Dean'd pick the girl every time. Not even the prospect of shooting something could make his brother enjoy the outdoors.

Happy for once to be one up on Dean, Sam couldn't wait to rub salt in his brother's misery. Exchanging thoughts of his brother for the pretty girl at his side, Sam followed her out of third period class.

888

Sam waved one last time to Julie as she pulled out of the driveway in her red Subaru. Without the aid of the porch light, or even a decent bit of moonlight, it took a moment for him to get the door unlocked. Just as he managed to slip the key in its hole, he heard the telephone inside start to ring. With a grimace, he got the door open and entered the house.

A ringing phone always left him with a feeling of dread. Too many times, he'd answered only to have emergency personnel, or worse yet Bobby, telling him that his dad or his brother had been injured.

Not to mention those oh so fun calls from the local electric company threatening to cut their power if they didn't receive payment. Either way, answering the phone was always a chore.

With a deep breath, he grabbed the heandset before it could start its fifth ring. "Hello?"

"Sam! What the hell is going on? You and that smart-mouth brother of yours are supposed to be standing in front of me. Not in frickin' West Virginia answering the goddamn phone."

At that first familiar 'Sam', he'd had enough sense to pull the phone slightly away from his ear so the sound of his father's outrage didn't permanently destroy his hearing. Once his old man had wound down, he returned the phone to his ear and asked, "Didn't Dean tell you? I had exams this week."

Sam couldn't believe that his brother hadn't defended him after promising. Though, he had to admit, getting bitched out by his father over the phone was much preferred to one of John's heart to hearts.

At Sam's words, he could hear his father draw in a deep breath. The shaggy-haired youth could picture John, one hand pinching the bridge of his nose as he struggled to rein in his temper.

"I'll ask your brother to explain just as soon as you tell me where the hell he is."

This time his father's words echoed loud and clear. In fact, they were bouncing inside of Sam's head like a ping-pong ball. "Dean's with you," Sam asserted, as he vaguely hoped his father was caught in the throws of some kind of alcoholic confusion.

"No, Sam, he's not."

** TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Chapter Notes:**

Whew, just made it. Sorry I"m a bit late today, but I've got company for the next two weeks and It took longer than I thought to get ready. ;) A big thanks goes to Laura for the quick beta she really went out of her way for this one.

Hope you enjoy - Kel ;)

**Chapter 4**

**Chapter End Notes:**

Okay, hopefully you all enjoyed. For those that are curious Julie is quoting a poem by Celia Leighton Thaxter called 'The Sunrise Never Failed Us Yet'.

I am going to do my best to post next Wednesday, however, I'm going to be on vacation for a large part of the week so I don't know for sure I'll be able. Rest assured if its not Wed. I'll get it up just as soon as I can.

Thanks for reading and I'll catch you all soon - Kel ;)

It was the sound of three-hundred-fifty-eight horses rumbling down the roadway that drew him. With a little over an hour left to find the girl before he needed to retreat to his home, he took off toward the sound.

His power, always strongest at night, would make short work of locating Julie. It was only once dawn broke that he'd be forced to rely on good old fashioned hard work. Right now, thanks to his special gift, the poor girl would find herself able to go no farther than the road, the road that he controlled.

Soon his phantom stretch of road would have both a beginning and unfortunately an end. The rising sun would also soon give proof to the lie he was the only soul in this tiny corner of the world. Not that she would find help, of that he'd made sure years ago.

Over the decades, he'd made sure to drive out even the hardiest of souls. So great was the carnage he had wrought that the few survivors who fled spread the word that the mountain was cursed. Generations had come and gone but an instinctual fear remained.

Though his guests were now few and far between, it was fine with Smith. He'd learned long ago keeping a low profile equaled longevity. Those that boasted of their unusual talents were the first to suffer for them.

If he missed Julie before dawn broke, she'd be unable to get far before night fell once more. Until he could get his hands on the young girl, he always had Christine to keep him occupied.

Centuries of practice had rendered him unbeatable. Never, in all his time, both here and in his former homeland had a guest escaped. He was the master and he would not be denied.

As he listened, with his heightened senses, he heard the growling engine come to a split second stop. With a smile of delight at the thought he'd soon have one more to call company, Smith picked up his pace.

888

Dean leaned forward dropping both hands to the hood of his car with a curse that would have made his father blush, as he contemplated the mess he now found himself in.

Early this morning he'd spent nearly an hour after he'd found Julie, looking for some sign of civilization. Another road, a house, hell, he would have settled for a mere street sign.

Instead, the only break in the monotony of trees had been Smith's driveway.

The first time they passed it, he had discounted Julie's sense of direction. Though the blonde had insisted, as she moaned in fear, the driveway should have been well behind them, he passed it with a grimace and kept on.

However, if, as they say, 'third time's a charm', he could no longer pretend they were dealing with a run of the mill crazy guy.

Something was preventing them from leaving, or more specific, Smith was preventing them from leaving.

At that point, as he'd cruised past the cheery light advertising the friggin' driveway once more, he'd very nearly hooked a hard right into the macadam drive. Ready to face the bastard head on in order to avoid looking at the same damn set of trees one more time, Dean was snapped out of his exasperation by Julie's gasp.

"The sun's coming up," she whispered, a faint trace of hope in her tone.

"It always does," Dean replied automatically.

"The blush of dawn may yet restore, our light and hope and joy once more. Sad soul, take comfort, nor forget that sunrise never failed us yet."

Dean glanced toward the blonde in surprise.

With a shrug Julie offered, "It just seems fitting."

The hunter in Dean had him nodding in agreement. Given his chosen line of work, watching dawn break meant you had lived to fight another day.

"Look," Julie whispered as she pointed out the window.

Dean didn't need clarification to understand what she was talking about. There, in the early morning glow he could clearly make out an opening in tree line. Overgrown and apparently unused, the track disappeared around a bend.

Obviously, Smith, who prevented them from leaving up until now, couldn't sustain his mojo in the light of day. Dean drew his first real bit of hope from that thought. If he was quick enough, he might be able to stash Julie in town and return for Christine. As an added bonus he might even be able to rid the town of Smith while he was more susceptible.

"Pull in," Julie urged.

"No way," Dean had snapped, "we're getting you to town. I can't help your friend with you taggin' along."

"No," Julie screamed as she lunged toward the steering wheel.

Shocked by the girl's outburst, Dean had slammed on the brakes, bringing the big car to a halt. Julie, thrown off by the sudden stop, slid into the dashboard with a cry of pain.

"Crap," Dean muttered as he put the car in park and reached a hand toward the girl.

Tears poured down her cheeks as she cradled her arm to her chest. He could only imagine that hitting the dash hadn't helped her shoulder.

"Please," she sobbed, "you promised you'd help Chris."

Frustrated beyond belief with the stubborn girl, Dean had snapped, "I promised to help your friend not lead you to your death."

"You don't understand," Julie sniffed pathetically, "she's my best friend. The only sister that I have."

Dean had dropped his head in surrender. He knew just how he'd feel if he'd left his own brother at the mercy of Smith. Honestly, Julie was right. Their best chance to find Christine, if she was still alive, was to move now and move fast. Not ready to give up completely, Dean turned to face the blonde.

"Okay, listen. I can deal with Smith and I can get your friend out. What I can't deal with is looking after you. We're gonna scout out the area and find a place for you to rest. Then I'll go, by myself," Dean snapped as he saw the protest forming on Julie's lips, "to find your friend."

As impossible as it seemed, Julie began to cry even harder as she babbled out a spate of thank you's.

That had been nearly five hours ago. Since then he'd managed to locate an abandoned cabin that was still more or less intact. He'd surrounded the feeble structure with every kind of protection he could think of and he still wasn't confident it was enough. The sight of the Impala resting on three slashed tires seemed to confirm his worries.

Though the feeling of being watched left him with daybreak, Julie's would-be stalker had obviously tracked them down while he'd been inside dealing with the girl's shoulder. The fact that the monster had managed to get this close didn't sit well with Dean. He had no idea how he was supposed to protect the young girl, and at the same time go after her friend.

First things first, he told himself as he pushed off the car with a grimace, supplies. Then he'd check on Julie and decide on a course of action. The way he figured it, Sam and his father would have long realized by now that something was wrong.

With the hope that the cavalry arrived soon, Dean set about sorting his supplies.

888

"Dean's with you," Sam asserted.

At Sam's conformation, John's hand involuntarily tightened on the phone pressed to his ear. Damn, he thought as he closed his eyes and dropped onto the bed behind him. He had known something was wrong as soon as dawn had broken and his boys still hadn't arrived. Dean was many things, but irresponsible wasn't one of them.

"No, Sam, he's not," John said with a sigh.

After giving them another hour and a half, he'd begun calling the house, half-praying someone would answer. When calls home garnered nothing more than his own gruff voice demanding that a message be left, he'd slammed down the phone in equal parts fear, exasperation and anger.

He found himself embarrassed to admit it took another twenty minutes of pacing and anxious glances out the motel window for him to remember the cell phone he'd given Dean only weeks before. By that point he was so terrified, he had begun barking out questions before he realized he'd gotten nothing more than his oldest son's voice demanding that a message be left.

It was at that point John finally managed to get himself under some kind of control. Dean was twenty years old, not some wet behind the ears kid, he kept telling himself as he began to double check he had everything needed to deal with the rawhead. Then there was Sam, while the kid's smart-ass remarks could drive a saint to drink, he was no less capable than his brother.

They were more than competent to deal with any situation that might arise. Hell, John snorted with a faint smile, together his boys were more formidable than he could ever hope to be.

Together, nothing would be able to get the drop on them, at least not for long.

Knowing he needed to keep busy or go crazy, he had quickly scribbled down some instructions for the boys, just in case, and left the paper on the table-top. He had then grabbed his gear and headed out to hunt himself a rawhead.

That had been nearly twelve hours ago. During that time he'd broken off on his search at least eight times to try every number he had for his boys. His motel room, Dean's cell phone, and the house all remained dead-ends. After his last barrage of phone calls, he'd returned to the hotel in defeat.

Other than a trail of small broken bodies he'd gotten no closer to tracking beast terrorizing the rural community. There remained only two other possible locations for the creature's lair, but he held out little hope. Rawheads didn't need anything fancy, they could make due with even a small outcropping of rocks as long as it was secluded. His chances of finding this thing would have been ten-fold with two extra sets of hands.

That thought had brought him to the crux of his problem. Near as he could tell his boys had been missing for nearly twenty-four hours now. Twenty-four hours in which god only knew what had happened.

No longer had he been able to pretend they were simply bogged down by mechanical problems or had taken a wrong turn. So, he'd picked up the white receiver of the motel phone one last time and had dialed home without much hope.

"What do you mean, no?" Sam whispered, bringing the elder Winchester back into the here and now.

Faced with Sammy's growing panic, John pushed aside his own fear and concentrated on his youngest.

"I need facts, Sam, now," John snapped hoping to head off the breakdown he could hear in the kid's voice. "I need to know everything you know."

He could clearly picture his son, eyes awash in tears, snap to attention at the order. Like clockwork, Sam began to reel off facts.

"Dean left here last night after eight, it might have been even closer to nine."

"Why didn't you come," John demanded without any true anger. He really didn't need to hear the excuse; he could easily guess why Dean had let the kid off the hook. It had been for the same reasons John himself had planned on using Sammy for nothing more than research and strategy. He hadn't wanted the teen exposed to what this creature was doing to these kids.

Dean, always his brother's protector, would have faced the rawhead alone and with his bare hands rather than allow Sam near it.

"I had exams, I couldn't miss," Sam defended hotly.

Knowing his son would have to deal with his own guilt, John let it drop and reminded him, "Where's Dean's itinerary?"

Years ago in a Massachusetts, John's kids had managed to find themselves a local spirit that was haunting a poor girl. Unable to reach their father they'd taken it upon themselves to rescue the girl and her aunt. As per usual, at least it seemed like it to him, John had arrived on the scene too late to actually save Dean from serious injury. He'd spent six weeks imparting on his boys how important it was that they back each other up. To John that'd meant no taking off without letting him know when, where, and what they were doing.

Dean, of course, had taken the lecture to heart. The only problem was he'd warped John's instructions so they only applied if he was separated from his brother. Now whenever the twenty year old had to leave Sam behind, he left the youth with a rundown of where he'd be, how he was getting there and how Sam could contact him if need be.

The sound of the phone hitting a hard surface was enough to alert John to the fact that Sam was in the process of finding the information. Only a year ago, his son would have had the packet tucked into the pocket of his jeans, the information contained within memorized. Lately, though, Sam seemed to see it as a weakness if he cared too much about where his older brother was.

"He said it was only four hours out. He expected to be at your hotel by midnight."

"Damn," John breathed as he rubbed a weary hand over his face. A four-hour trip for Dean was nothing; his son ate up miles of asphalt better than any trucker ever had. "Did he leave you a map?"

Sam's voice shook with emotion. "There's a map with his route marked, and your hotel information, even a map of the town you're in."

There was no mistaking the warble in Sam's voice as he continued, "He...the jerk...he...folded it all up and sealed it with red-candle wax. I...had to break the stupid seal."

Despite the gravity of the situation, John had to smile, his oldest son never lacked in the drama department. "What'd he emboss the wax with?"

Instead of a laugh as he'd hoped, Sam's breath hitched and he whispered, "I think it's a pair of boobs."

Involuntarily, John dropped the hand that held the phone to his lap and put one hand over his mouth to stifle a frantic laugh. Leave it up to his womanizing son to find a stamp of a naked woman.

"Dad!"

John jumped at the muffled shout and placed the phone to his ear once more. Garnering every bit of his self control, he answered, "I'm here, son."

"What now?" Sam questioned suddenly sounding much younger than his sixteen years.

Despite his own uncertainty, John was careful to keep his voice even and firm. "Now? Now, you're going to do what you do best Sam. I want you to take the information your brother left you and find him."

"But-"

At his words, Sam had begun to protest. John ignored him and cut him off, "You know the drill, start calling police, hospital and morgues along his route."

"Morgues?" Sam asked in a whisper.

"Everywhere, Sam. We'll have a better chance of finding him if we know where he's not," John said firmly.

Already his mind was spinning, presenting him with a hundred different scenarios that could have interrupted his son's trip. What worried him most weren't the typical human ones, like mechanical failure or even running into trouble. What worried him was the kind of danger that could be found off the grid.

His son had proven more than once to be a magnet for trouble. Even with an arsenal in the trunk, Dean may have found himself in trouble too deep to handle.

"I'm gonna take care of his rawhead and be on the road in two hours. You, are gonna find a place for me to start searching. You got that?"

John hated leaving his Dean to his fate for any longer than necessary, but he was unable to abandon the children of this town to a fate worse than death. His son, of all people, would understand.

"What? Wait?" Sam questioned his voice cracking in fear. "I can't do this. You have to come home now. I'll give you his route and you can find him."

Despite knowing he was giving Sam yet another reason to look at him in disappointment, John stuck to his guns. "Sam, much as you don't want to admit it, your brother can handle himself. The people in this town can't. This rawhead is one evil son of a bitch and its grabbing kids faster than you can imagine."

Though the boy made no sound, John could clearly imagine the outrage on his face. Needing to make him understand John continued, "Sam-"

Before he could finish his thought, there was a sharp click and the phone in his hand went dead.

"Damnit, Sam," John swore at the phone as he slammed it down.

Without wasting a minute, he grabbed up his weapons duffle and headed out the door. He had two final locations to check, an abandoned shack on the outskirts of town, and a mill factory down by the river. With a prayer toward the heavens that his first-born would be okay, John turned his focus toward the hunt.

888

Sam stared at the phone he'd just slammed onto the receiver with a mixture of shock and revulsion. He found it nearly impossible to believe that he'd just hung up on his father. He was somewhat stunned to see the phone hadn't burst into flames after such an act of mutiny.

John's words began to replay in his mind.

_Your brother can handle himself_.

For Sam, John's brush off was little more than a vindication his father wasn't to be trusted. Not that he hadn't realized it long ago. He had never understood how his brother could put such faith in the man.

While John had always shown up for the big occasions, the ones where he was under scrutiny from the outside world, he'd rarely if ever, been there for the day to day that made up his sons' lives. Despite Dean's denial, Sam had long ago realized that he and his brother came second to the hunt.

Sam's sense of normal, skewed though it may be, was solely the product of his brother's efforts. His brother was the glue that held Sam's small family together. Without him, Sam didn't know what would happen to him and his father.

_Your brother can handle himself. _

Now, here they stood, just where Sam feared they would end up. Dean gone and John off saving other people's kids rather than his own.

The youngest Winchester drew his arm across his face to dry the tears that leaked sluggishly from his eyes, and sniffed. With one last fleeting glance toward the phone, he gathered up Dean's itinerary and headed for the kitchen table. As he went he flipped on a couple lights bringing the dingy room into the light.

In the kitchen, Sam grabbed a coke from the fridge and settled in at the table. A phonebook, a notepad of paper and Dean's information spread out before him.

_Your brother can handle himself. _

'This message will self-destruct in 5 seconds' was printed boldly across the envelope in his brother's familiar script. Leave it to Dean to turn something as mundane as directions into a joke, Sam thought as he swiped ineffectually at his face.

As he fingered the envelope, he couldn't stop the sobs that broke from his chest. The idea of his brother lost was killing him and his father's apparent nonchalance even more so. John could pretend all he wanted, but Dean would never put some nameless kids in front of finding Sam, of that he was sure.

His brother wouldn't be satisfied with just tracking him down. His brother would act.

Determination began to grow inside the teen as he set about tracing his brother's route on a map of the area. As he worked, an idea began to form for finding his brother.

**TBC **


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Chapter Notes:**

Well, here it is at last and only a week and an hour late....guh. I would appologize for missing last weeks update but honestly I just had way too much fun to feel guilty...lol. Hopefully you all will forgive me and believe me when I say next weeks update will happen on time.

**Chapter 5**

888

Christine hated sleeping in the car. In motion or at a standstill she could never quite get comfortable enough to really rest. Take now for instance, no matter how she twisted and turned she couldn't ease the ache that had set up residence along her spine.

With a sigh that wasn't quite a whimper she shifted again and squeezed her eyes shut tighter. Exhaustion pulled at her, demanding that she give in to sleep, but her body wouldn't obey.

The pain in her spine continued to nag her, working its way up from the center of her back and flaring into her shoulders. It was then she realized something was wrong, really wrong.

"Jules?" she questioned. Finally, she gave in and pried open one sleep filled eye.

Reality slammed into Christine, stealing her breath setting her heart to pounding.

Christine had gone to sleep in the Ford, only to re-awaken with that whacked-out Smith hovering over her as he finished strapping her to some kind of bed. Once he'd secured her to his satisfaction, he'd mentioned something about tracking down Jules.

The petite brunette blinked away the tears that had flooded her eyes and lifted her head to look around. Dingy lace curtains limply framed the window, allowing sunshine to stream into the room. The light brightened every corner of the space, giving her an unvarnished view of the chamber.

There was no comfort to be found in the rays. Instead, she found herself wishing she was still in the dark. Anything would be preferable to what she was seeing.

In the light of day, the walls looked to be a mixture of rust red and chocolate brown. If taken out of context she would have almost admired the spray-like technique that gave the plaster a textured look.

However, the sight of a stained canvas drop cloth spread out beneath the makeshift bed made it hard to ignore what Smith had used for 'paint'. If the splatters and gore covered cloth wasn't enough, the cuffs that kept her secured to the bed drove away any doubts.

Her one saving grace was the fact that the man had yet to return. Near as she could figure, given the amount of sunshine that streamed through the window he'd been gone for at least five or six hours. If in that time he'd been unable to find Julie, well, then that was even better.

Realistically she knew there was little chance she'd be able to save herself. Smith obviously wasn't some random dude that took advantage of a situation in the spur of the moment. The room she now found herself in was proof of that. Still it wasn't going to keep her from at least trying. With a sniff, she jerked against the bands of steel encircling her wrists.

Somewhat revived by the sleep she'd gotten, she firmed her resolve and began to methodically jerk at the holds on her ankles.

888

Smith's lip curled in smug satisfaction as he stepped over a native tribal symbol traced in the loamy soil. He couldn't help the thrill of excitement that danced up his spine at the sight of that mark. It was obvious that Julie's would-be rescuer wasn't of the ordinary sort.

His earlier excitement at the idea of three victims increased ten-fold as he contemplated just how much fun it would be to hunt a hunter. For too long he'd been content to remain in the shadows, remaining ever vigilant to avoid notice from those that knew the truth.

It hadn't been hard.

In this country, huntsmen were solitary men who avoided contact with each other. Their knowledge, already scanty at best, often died out rather than continue through the generations. That gave Smith a distinct advantage.

Giving credit where credit was due, he had to admit the protection symbols were a smart move on the young man's part. A large and varied number of beings would think twice before stepping over the invisible line drawn in the dirt.

Unfortunately for the hunter, the girl and that beautiful black car, now resting on triple flats, it hadn't been enough. His was an evil so ancient only the rawest of elements offered any real challenge.

The sandy-haired youth had done better inside the shanty. Though Smith could clearly see inside the building and had in fact gazed upon both Julie and the man, he'd been unable to enter. The salt line that had been laid across the doorways and windows had done what little else could do, block his entrance.

No matter, Smith thought as he picked up his pace. Eventually the couple would have to leave the shelter and then they'd be his. In the meantime, he had plenty to keep him occupied.

888

"I won't stay," Jules cried as she dragged a now sopping wet handkerchief under her nose once more.

Ever since they'd taken refuge in the small one room shack the girl had been a font of water and snot. Dean had honestly never seen anyone look quite as disgusting while crying.

More than once he'd had a girl turn on the waterworks with the intention of manipulating him, but never had he seen anyone just full out cry like Julie. This was no affected single tear trickling prettily down her cheek.

Instead, a fountain of water streamed from her bloodshot eyes and dripped from her chin. Her complexion had grown splotchy, making her resemble a drunk on a two-day bender. If the tears and the florid complexion wasn't enough to have him keeping his distance the near constant sniffling had done the trick.

Not since Sam was a toddler had he seen such unabashed crying.

Luckily, his disgust for her current state was second to his admiration for her courage. Despite the tears, she remained gung-ho in her desire to rescue her friend. Rarely did he find someone so willing to sacrifice their own safety in order to help another. Especially when you took into account the fact that there was no blood shared between the two women.

Now if only he could convince her to leave the actual saving to him.

He felt confident the salt-line he'd used to seal the perimeter of the hut would hold against Smith. If the man had been able to breach the line, he would not have stopped at slashing his baby's wheels.

"This isn't up for argument. This son-of-a-bitch is itchin' to get his fingers on you again, I can't look out for you and help your friend."

From Dean's point-of-view the idea that Christine was still alive was pretty laughable. Near as Dean could figure, Smith had come and gone a couple hours ago leaving the freaky bastard with plenty of free time. What he might have done with all that extra time was another good reason for Julie to stay behind.

"We're wasting time talking about it," Julie pouted.

The way she stood, her arms crossed, her lower lip pushed out in a full sulk, again, put Dean in mind of a much younger Sam.

"Yeah, you're absolutely right. We are wasting time, time your friend doesn't have," Dean snarled as he squared his stance and glared back. Confident that the weight of his frown would be enough to make the girl cave, he waited for her surrender.

Surprisingly she shrugged her good shoulder and caved, "Fine, you're right. You can go ahead."

Though it was what he wanted, her sudden capitulation made him nervous.

"Excuse me?" he questioned.

"I said, go ahead."

Dean raised an eyebrow in disbelief and questioned, "and you'll stay here?"

Julie's gaze firmed as she replied, "Well, I didn't say that."

"You wouldn't," Dean growled as he began to run through scenarios in which he left the young girl hogtied on the shanty floor.

"Try me," was Julie's only reply as she continued to stare the hunter down.

As much as he admired the girl's grit, he was past done with her foolishness. "I can make you stay here."

"Really," she bit out, "and just how are you going to do that. Leave me tied up and helpless while you try to find Smith. What if he circles back here? I wouldn't be able to lift a finger to defend myself."

As much as he'd love to refute her words, Dean had yet to give the woman the whole 'truth is out there' speech. He'd left her with her assumption that Smith was simply some backwoods bastard getting his rocks off.

It had seemed easier, and less likely to cause her to run away screaming, to let her hold onto the reality she was familiar with. Even now that she'd begun to trust him somewhat, explaining the salt lines would only shatter what little faith she had in him.

"Listen, sister, if I decide to hogtie you and leave you behind, you can bet that skinny ass of yours that no one, Smith included would be able to get to you."

The steel in Julie's spine seemed to leak out as the young woman slumped to the ground. "Please, don't leave me here alone."

Dean stared hard at the blonde, his jaw clenched in frustration. This was the first time the girl had shown any fear for herself. Her admission hit home as little else would have.

At last, Dean asked, "Can you fire a shotgun?"

His words had Julie gaining her feet as quickly as her shoulder would allow. Doubts nagged the young hunter as he took in the willowy blonde's sudden fierce look. He couldn't help but feel as if he'd been played when she replied.

"No, but I can learn."

888

Sam stared long and hard at the map, as his finger traced what had been his brother's route. Taking a highlighter in hand, he marked the path and then began to break up the route into counties. Finding his brother would be no small feat given the amount of territory the hunter had to travel. Near as Sam could figure there were at least four counties that touched upon Dean's path.

By focusing on the task at hand he was able to push away the near incapacitating terror that threatened to destroy him. Over and over again he worked to convince himself that his fears were unfounded that his brother had merely gotten waylaid and would soon contact either himself or their father.

Anyone that had a passing acquaintance with his brother would think the twenty year old was nothing but a clown. With his swagger and attitude, Dean liked nothing better than to play fast and loose when it came to his personal life.

However, when it came to the hunt there was no one as responsible as his older brother. When working, Dean was like a force of nature, nothing could stand in his path and survive.

It was that knowledge that left Sam with the urge to vomit. It didn't help that his father had charged him with finding his brother on his own. Though the youngest Winchester had taken to doing a large part of the research over the last year and a half he'd never taken on such a responsibility.

Determined to do it right and fast, Sam forced his focus back to the map.

Once he'd divided the route, he then grabbed the old rotary phone that stood ready on the table, and put in a call to information. Despite knowing that he was searching for a needle in a stack of needles he dialed information and began to methodically ask for the phone numbers for each county's morgue, police station, and hospitals. He then asked for one last number from the overworked operator.

After he'd dropped the phone into the cradle he looked over the list of numbers he'd collected and sighed tiredly, it was going to be a long and frustrating night, one that offered little in the way of hope.

888

"So, Christy, my girl, are you ready to get started?"

Christine couldn't stop the low moan that rose out of her throat as she jerked against the bindings that held her. The sound of Smith's overly chipper voice caused her stomach to roil in fright. Afraid that she was about to vomit, she rolled slightly to the right and drew in a deep calming breath. The last thing she wanted was to choke to death on her own vomit.

Then again, she thought to herself as she caught sight of Smith, maybe it would be the preferable way out.

The crazy bastard rubbed his hands in anticipation as he approached the side of her bed. He'd changed into a pair of denim overalls and a white cotton shirt. She couldn't for the life of her understand just what game he was playing but as she continued to fight down her nauseas she found herself unable to care.

All that really mattered was getting loose. Well, she amended, getting loose and not vomiting on herself.

"Now, young lady, I've taken care of your little friend for the moment, leaving me free to focus on you a bit."

The idea of Smith's focus falling solely on her didn't sound promising. In fact, she was pretty sure there could be nothing worse.

Then he pulled a pair of bright silver kitchen shears from the pocket of his bib-overalls causing Christine to re-evaluate just how much worse things could get.

"Don't touch me," she growled in a pathetic attempt to hide her fear from the monster before her.

"This wont hurt a bit," Smith said as he waved aside her protests and moved toward her jean clad leg. With very little effort, he grabbed hold of her leg, easily subduing her struggling limb. He then began to cut away her pants and exposing the skin beneath.

As the man continued to cut away her clothing, Christine began to scream. The raw, nearly inhuman sounds were unlike anything she'd ever produced before and despite the pain in her throat she was unable to stop. It was only after her vocal chords would no longer cooperate that the piercing shrieks became a low moaning sound.

Diligent in his work, Smith was true to his word causing the petite brunette no harm. Other than the occasional brush of the metal shears against her skin, he caused her no real discomfort. The bastard proved to be much stronger than her and had no trouble subduing Julie despite her best efforts.

Left lying in nothing more than her white cotton panties and bra, Christine felt vulnerable as she never had before. Again, the urge to vomit came upon her causing her to gag. As she lay strapped to the table the cold air caressing her bare skin she found it harder and harder to hold back the bile she could feel rising in her throat.

Overcome by the urge to retch, Christine was no longer able to control her body. As she began to heave, Smith reached for her.

"Oh, no, you don't. Onto your side you go. If you're going to purge I won't risk having you asphyxiate on it." He then placed one of his cold white hands on her side and forced her to turn as much as the cuffs would allow.

Having had nothing but water for the last twelve hours, Christine's stomach could produce little more than bile. That didn't seem to deter the heaves that continued to shudder through her long after her stomach was empty. Each retch caused her to pull against the cuffs holding her arms causing a bone deep ache in her shoulder.

At last, her body calmed allowing her to ease the pressure on her shoulder. Smith who had faded into the background at her vomiting reappeared with a bottle of water. Despite knowing that the water could spiked with any number of things, Christine allowed the man to pour a measure of the cold liquid into her mouth.

Smith gestured toward the floor and said easily, "There's no reason to swallow that, just rinse and spit. You won't hurt the floor."

The water had helped to center Christine's focus once more. At Smith's words, every bit of her earlier anger returned making her feel strong. Not even bothering to think it through, the young woman went ahead and spit the water at the tall silver-haired man.

To her immense satisfaction, the water hit Smith point blank, staining the front bibs of his overalls.

Her anger overcoming her sense of self-preservation Christine rasped, "Bite me, you freak."

Smith's chuckle, as he swiped a handkerchief across his chest, was unexpected to say the least. "Come now, child, I think I made it clear that I have no interest in taking a bite out of you."

Afraid to ask, but even more afraid of the images her imagination was conjuring, Christine muttered, "What are you going to do?"

The creep reached out, trailing one white hand down her abdomen, across her hipbone and down her thigh. Though she wanted to fight and rail against the touch, she knew doing so would be a waste of time and energy. Better to bite her lip and wait for an opportunity.

Once he'd reached her ankle, Smith's neatly manicured hand jumped to her other leg and began to trail back up her skin. Goosebumps began to break out wherever his hand touched and her shivering reached epic proportions.

"You poor thing, you're cold. I'll go ahead and adjust the thermostat for you," Smith chuckled as he came to a stop at her left side.

"Thanks," Christine muttered sarcastically.

Smith's smile was magnanimous at what he took to be praise. "Well, I'm nothing if not reasonable."

With these words, the blue-eyed man clapped his hands together and grinned. "Now, shall we begin?"

888

"Okay, just forget it. You'll never manage with that shoulder of yours," the sandy-haired man snapped as he reached for the sawed-off shotgun Julie held.

"Just give me another chance," she argued, her voice wavering as she jerked the weapon out of his reach. "I know I can do this."

At the warble in her voice, Dean's expression turned from irritated to sympathetic.

"Listen, it's not going to happen. You can't load one handed and the recoil from the shot is gonna put you on your knees."

Dean's matter-of-fact words only served to bring tears to her eyes once more. The idea of coming face to face with Smith scared her more than she wanted to admit. Despite being unable to wield the weapon its solid feel and heavy weight gave her a surge of confidence that she desperately needed.

"Please," she begged making no effort to stop the tears that slipped down her cheeks.

With a much-abused sigh, the handsome man reached into his pocket and pulled out yet another bandanna. Julie had to admit he came prepared. If she didn't know better she'd have assumed that he held stock in the company that makes the handkerchiefs. Ever since her first breakdown, which admittedly had been followed by several others, he'd continued to produce clean hanky's left and right. The guy was a regular boy scout.

"How about I give you something a little more your speed?" Dean asked as he held out a hand for the weapon.

Julie reluctantly handed over the gun in exchange for the red hanky and asked, "What?

With his eyes sparkling in amusement, the young man held up one hand to indicate patience and turned toward one of the large duffle bags he'd grabbed from his car earlier in the day. Earlier, Julie had wondered aloud just what he had inside the sacks but he'd given her the brush-off by telling her it was just some 'stuff' that might come in handy.

Considering that so far he'd managed to produce a medical kit that would rival any army medic, several bottles of water, a blanket, some power bars, two shotguns, a bandolier of shells and the aforementioned bandanas from the bags, she had decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

The copious amounts of weapons and ammo had worried her slightly until he'd admitted that he used his car in his line of work. Though she'd had her doubts that the head-turning black car could pass unnoticed on even the simplest of stakeouts, she had to admit the vehicle would never be mistaken for a cop car.

"Here, I think this'll suite you better."

Julie returned her gaze to the green-eyed man before her in eagerness. Hoping to score a gun that would rival Dirty Harry's, she was a bit thrown off when he instead handed her what looked to be a pry bar.

"What am I supposed to do with this? Jimmy his locks?" Julie asked as she hefted the solid feeling piece of iron in her hand.

Dean shot her a smile and again knelt beside the bags. Though his back was to Julie it appeared that he was transferring belongings from one bag to the other.

"Trust me, this guy's not the gun type. If he gets close enough that you can get a swing in, it's gonna do some damage," he said as he turned to face her, the shotgun in hand and a duffle over his arm.

Swinging the tool a few times to get a feel for it, Julie had to concede that if swung hard enough it would cause some serious hurt.

"Now, this is the way it's going to be," Dean said, gesturing to Julie with the gun. "You are going to do what I say when I say it."

Not wanting to risk getting left behind, Julie nodded and said, "Of course, I'll do just what you say, I promise."

With a lazy grin that belied his serious green eyes the man stepped forward, coming to rest toe to toe with her. Julie couldn't help the shiver that raced down her spine at his nearness, there was something about Officer Winchester that screamed danger.

In her case, the time spent together had assured her that she had nothing to fear from the man. Despite his youth, his proficiency in patching her up had been nothing but professional and the confidence he exuded had put her instantly at ease.

What she had come to realize and what she'd hoped would help save her friend was the feeling that Winchester wouldn't stop until they were safe. She felt certain the aura of danger she sensed would be to her benefit and would eventually lead to Smith's demise.

Dean's hard gaze froze her where she stood as he continued, "Good. Now, we're gonna leave a trail leading back to this cabin. If things go bad your one job, your only goal, will be to return to this cabin."

Julie shifted under his steady stare and nodded.

"You will come inside and you will stay here. You will not venture out for anything. Is that understood?"

Again, Julie nodded, not trusting her voice.

Dean nodded and leaned back slightly. With a hint of a grimace he said, "Good. If you do as I say, you'll be safe. There are people looking for me and as long as you stay here, they'll find you."

"Smith?" Julie couldn't help but ask.

"This place is stronger than it looks. It'll keep Smith out."

While Julie couldn't understand Dean's confidence in the dilapidated shack she didn't refute it. After all, if things went bad it wasn't as if she had many choices.

"I will," she replied.

With a twist of his lips, his expression changed to one of boyish enthusiasm. With a cocky grin he said, "Well then, let's haul ass."

As they exited the shanty and began to make their way across the open field it rested on, the young man picked up his pace, calling over his shoulder, "Let me know when I need to slow down."

Not bothering to reply, she matched him stride for stride as they trotted through the hip high grass that surrounded the building. Feeling more exposed than she ever had in her entire life, Julie stuck tight to Dean's side and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other.

888

"What are you doing?" Christine moaned in fear as Smith dropped to a knee by her side and began to fiddle with the bed she lay on.

"God...what are you doing?" she called out once more as the bed beneath her began to move. The cot was moving in relation to a faint shushing sound that was coming from where Smith now knelt.

As the noise continued, the restraints that held Christine's extremities became taut causing her back to flair with pain. "Ow...,"

At her cry of pain, Smith's head whipped up and he met her terrified, pain filled glance.

"Hm...a bit more to begin with I believe."

This time, though the sound of scraping continued, Smith kept his gaze on Christine. Unable to stare into his ice blue gaze any longer, Chris turned her face away.

Pain began to burn its way through her arms and legs as the restraints that held her continued to pull her apart. Already stretched to the point that she could move nothing but her fingers, toes, and head, the petite brunette couldn't help but cry out once more. "Please, it hurts, please stop," she gasped.

"What stop already?" Smith replied in a teasing voice.

"Please," Christine begged, unable to spare shame at pleading with her captive.

At her words, Smith suddenly loomed over her, his distinguished countenance seemingly at odds given the current circumstances, and sucked in a breath. "How I love the smell of fear, its memory is what gets me through those long lonely nights."

Trailing his fingertips across Christine's now sweat-soaked body, Smith then touched his fingers to his tongue. "Delightful".

"Please," Chris murmured once more, despite knowing that her pleading would do her no good.

This was no horror movie, there would be no happy ending with her, the brave heroine, walking off into the sunset. Smith was wrong in every sense of the word and he would not be deterred with words.

"Ha ha ha," Smith rumbled with laughter at her pleading. "Oh, this is going to be fun."

Again, he bent and reached beneath the bed.

Even though she knew what to expect, she wasn't able to hold back her scream as the fire in her body increased.

"Ah....that is lovely," Smith crooned as the pressure increased, causing her joints to pop with audible sounds. With the sound, the silver-haired man gained his full height and again leaned over her. "Now, I want you to wait right here, because I've got a little surprise for you."

Even through the pain induced fog she was in, Christine could hear the excitement in Smith's voice. He sounded like a doting grandfather about to bestow a favored grandchild with a special present. Unsure if she'd survive his surprise, Chris closed her eyes, as he practically skipped from the room, and concentrated on not moving.

**TBC**


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Chapter Notes:**

Well, despite the fact that I've spent the last week living in the house o' plague I'm happy to have this one ready and on time. Thanks to you all for your great comments and I hope you enjoy. - Kel ;)

**Chapter 6**

John stayed low, using the crumbling brick wall as cover. As carefully as he knew how, he rose up, just peeking over the edge of the rough brick. There, in the distance, he could make out the old one-room schoolhouse. The long-ago abandoned building was his last and best chance at catching and putting down the rawhead.

He'd tracked the creature this far and had then pulled back to watch as the son-of-a-bitch eased its way through a broken basement window. That had been roughly twenty minutes ago, since then, he'd caught hints of movement through the mostly broken windows as the creature attended to its business.

Unfortunately, John had a pretty good idea of what that business might be.

He glanced at his watch once more and felt a whisper of panic ghost over his body. Near as he could figure his son had now been missing for nearly twenty-six hours. It had been two hours since he'd last spoken with Sam. He had little doubt the shaggy-haired youth was even now staring at the phone willing him to call. Hopefully, his son had found them a starting place.

John didn't relish the idea of wasting time following false leads. Then again, if anyone could find Dean it would be his youngest. He'd always found himself slightly awed and a bit wary of his Sam's ability to find his older brother. There was nowhere Dean could hide that Sam wasn't able to seek him out. Though it had ruined many a game of hide and seek, Dean had never complained.

His oldest son had encouraged Sam to trust his instincts, especially, during training maneuvers and hunts. Sam's knack of knowing where his brother was, at all times, made them a formidable duo.

With one last hope that Sam had put his skills to good use, John double-checked the tazer gun he held and started for the school.

888

"Crap," Sam swore as he hung up the phone once more.

It had been two hours since he'd heard from his father. Sticking with hospitals and police stations for each county his brother's route had taken him through, Sam had methodically worked his way through the list.

So far, it had been a bust.

Twice he'd tracked down bad leads. One, a John Doe that had been in a car accident, and the second, a twenty-something youth picked up for trespassing. Given the fact he had no idea what name his brother might be using, following the false leads had been time consuming and aggravating.

Sam dropped his gaze to the paper in front of him and stared hard at the last number on his list. The Kentucky state police was his last hope. If his call to the closest barracks garnered nothing then Sam would have to admit to his father that he had nothing.

Knowing that failure wasn't an option, Sam picked up the receiver and dialed once more.

"Kentucky State Police - Post 9," A female voice drawled.

Sam gripped the phone tight and spoke, "Hi, I'm hoping you could help me, my brother's missing. He was traveling along route 52 between Nolan and Inez on his way to meet up with my father. He hasn't shown up yet."

"Aw, now, honey. I'm sure he's fine."

Fighting back the urge to scream in frustration, Sam softened his voice and urged, "He hasn't called or anything and my Mom's starting to freak out." Sam had learned an imaginary mom, crying her eyes out garnered more pity than he could generate on his own.

"How late is he?"

Confident he was going to get the help he needed, Sam promptly replied, "He's been gone over twenty-four hours. My brother's no flake if he could, he would have called."

"Alright, well let's take a look. My officers have responded to three different traffic accidents since yesterday morning....."

As the woman's voice trailed off, Sam wanted to scream in frustration. The state police were his last true lead, if this woman couldn't find anything for him, then he didn't know where to turn next.

"Okay, I can give you the specs on the cars at least. We've got a Toyota Corolla, vs. a Ford pickup. Then it looks like there was a three-car crash: Mack truck, Ford Taurus and a Chevy pickup."

Caught between needing to know what had happened to his brother and the idea that Dean could be lying unconscious in some hospital or worse was tearing Sam apart. "The third?"

"Happened early in the am today. Looks like a fender bender between a Chevy Malibu and a Saturn."

"Damn," Sam whispered as his last hopes were crushed.

"Don't worry, sweetie, it's a good thing. Means he's just running a little late.

Wanting nothing more than to growl at the chipper voice that was working so hard to make him feel better Sam tried one last tact. "What about traffic violations? Can you tell me if any tickets were issued to a 1967 Chevy Impala?"

"Hm...a Chevy Impala...huh? Well, lets see...a Chevy Impala..."

Listening to the woman mumble to herself, Sam closed his eyes and sent a whispered prayer to heaven that his brother had racked up another one of his famous tickets. Only last week John had threatened to consign Dean to a week of maneuvers the next time his brother brought home another speeding violation.

"Nope, kiddo, I'm sorry but there's been no citations issued for a Chevy Impala. I went back as far as Wednesday just to make sure."

At her words, tears flooded Sam's eyes. As he drew an arm across his eyes, he heard a faint voice in the phone that was pressed against his ear.

"What's that about an Impala, Marge?"

Sam's breath whooshed out of his chest as he pushed the handset even harder to his ear.

"We got a possible missing persons, a kid driving a Chevy Impala," came Marge's muffled reply.

"Who's on the phone?" asked the gruff voice.

"Kid's brother, says the guy was supposed to show up early this morning but no one's heard from him."

"Put him threw, let me talk to him."

Sam waited with bated breath as Marge came back on the line. "Sorry about that, honey. I got Officer Jones here, he might be able to help you."

Unable to do much more, Sam muttered a thank you.

"No problem, hope you find him."

With that, there was a moment of silence before the muzak came on signifying he was being transferred.

At last, a gruff voice asked, "Sergeant Jones here, how can I help you?"

"My name's Sam Winchester. My brother Dean was supposed to meet my father early this morning only he never showed. We haven't heard from him since," Sam stated not bothering to embellish in any way. This guy obviously new something or he wouldn't have wasted his time with the youngest Winchester.

"This brother of yours, he drives a black '67 Impala?"

Nearly lightheaded with relief, Sam allowed his eyes to slip close as he answered, "Yeah."

"He a good looking kid, early twenties, light colored hair, wearing a dark jacket?"

"Yeah, that's him," Sam affirmed.

"Well, I saw him then. I was on duty last night over on Route 292 when I saw the car pulled onto the shoulder-"

"Was he okay?" Sam interrupted.

"Easy, kid, your brother was fine. Just changing a flat is all. I waited with him while he finished and then followed him down the highway."

"Where was he pulled off and at what time," Sam asked with a bit of a wince. He was taking a risk asking such informed questions, he could only hope the cop didn't decide to question him.

The sergeant seemed to think nothing of Sam's thoroughness as he answered promptly, "It was thirteen twenty-five just off mile marker 12. I followed him till he turned onto Route 1714."

Mind already focused on the map, Sam barely heard the rest of the officer's words.

"Not sure why he would have gone that way, ain't nothing out there but mountains and scrub."

This time the cop's words broke through Sam's fog. "Wait, what? You said he turned off 292?"

"That's right," Jones affirmed. "I was following him for a bit, saw him take the turn onto 1714."

The officer's words made it clear why his brother would have opted to go the long way around. There's no way Dean would have wanted a cop tailing him the length of the highway, whether it was intentional or not.

"That's the last you saw of him?" the teen asked as he continued marking the map.

"Yeah, that's as much as I know. If you want to file a missing persons..." The officer offered.

Sam deferred not wanting to waste anymore of Dean's precious time. "I'll give my dad the information. See what he thinks. He's working his way down 292 as we speak."

"Good idea," the officer agreed. "I'm sure nothing's wrong. As cherry as that car was, it's not hard to throw those old babies out of commission. Your brother's probably just holed up in a gestation near Lovely trying to get her moving again."

"I'm sure," Sam replied distractedly. "Thanks again."

As he hung up the phone, he glanced down at the map once more and carefully drew a large perimeter around the town of Lovely. With a starting place in hand, Sam stared at the phone, urging it to ring.

888

Of all the dumb friggin' luck, John Winchester thought to himself as he coughed out what felt like an ounce of masonry dust from his chest.

He'd entered the house undetected and had made his way to the basement without a hitch. Once there he'd managed to corner the rawhead with little trouble. Ten thousand volts later and the creature that had destroyed the lives and hopes of many was no more than a charred pile of ash. Unable to leave the building until he was certain there were no survivors, John had begun searching the condemned school.

A search of the basement had turned up nothing other than a pile of bones and one fresher corpse. Though the kid had obviously already been dead for a few days, the ex-marine couldn't help the guilt that rolled through him. His head assured him there was nothing more he could have done to save the boy. Hell, a few days ago, Johnny hadn't even known there was a rawhead in the area. His heart, however, ached with a pain that made him wish he was as callous as he pretended to be.

More determined than ever to find some good amidst all the horror, he'd returned to the ground floor and had begun to explore.

It was then he'd found two young boys locked inside a crude cage. Though beaten and bruised they'd both been capable of walking out of the house of horror. John had broken open their cells and was leading them outside when he'd placed his foot on a bad floor board.

Rotted nearly through by years of exposure to the elements the board snapped under his weight causing him to plunge forward. Before he could catch himself, more of the floor had collapsed throwing him back into the basement he'd only recently vacated.

"Mister!" a pitiful voice rasped from above.

"Stay back," John warned, hating the weak sound of his voice. The urgency in the kid's cry had him testing his body, checking for injuries. By carefully flexing each muscle he determined he'd hurt little more than his pride.

"I'm okay," he called out, wanting to offer some small comfort. "Just stay back from the hole."

With complete disregard for his order, a tiny pale face peeped out over the edge of the hole he'd created. "Can you get out?"

"Leg's stuck," he growled at the oldest of the two kids.

He couldn't believe his friggin' luck. He'd been doing the job now for more years than he cared to consider and never had something so stupid happened to him. "I'm gonna need you two to go for help. Can you do that?"

His shaggy haired, would-be rescuer, nodded and said, "We'll get Daryl. He'll get you out."

"Hurry, kid," John added as the face disappeared. He spent the next ten minutes, listening to the two small boys maneuver themselves out of the old building. It was only once quiet returned to the building that he allowed his thoughts to linger on where his son might be. With one last hope that Daryl, whoever he was, hurried, John began to try to dig out his stuck appendage.

888

"Okay, I'm sorry but I gotta say it. This is the place you and your friend decided looked safe?"

Julie didn't answer Dean's snide remark as she stared in shock at Smith's house in the glow of the setting sun. Gone was the clean white paint, instead, the color put her in mind of a puddle of stagnant water. The smell emanating from the place only served to bolster that image. The steps that had seemed so solid under her feet were warped and rotting in places, and some missing treads altogether.

Weeds encroached the driveway, most of them seeming to consist of thorny bushes and none of them sported flowers of any kind. The driveway itself was rock rather than macadam and in places the rock gave way to dirt.

"It's gotta be the wrong house," she muttered as she noted what looked like a human skull dangling from a light post. If asked ten minutes ago she would have sworn that a basket of flowers had hung from that spot.

"That your car?" Winchester asked with a grim nod toward the Focus.

"Yeah, but I'm telling you, that's not what we saw last night."

Dean didn't argue with her, instead he sighed heavily and continued his inspection of the property. "Okay, that front door looks like the only door. Where does it lead?"

Earlier, Julie had refused to answer the officer's questions. She knew that if she gave him enough detail he would have found a way to leave her behind. At least this way she was somewhat needed, or at least not a total detriment.

"Through the door, there's a hallway that opens up into the kitchen and dining area. A set of steps leads up the second floor and there's a bathroom too."

"Any doors you didn't open?"

Julie wracked her exhausted brain for answers. "There was a door to the right of the bathroom, I don't know where it led. When Smith went to get us blankets he went up the stairs."

The green-eyed man didn't bother to face her, only nodded once and asked, "Anything else you can tell me?"

"He's stronger than he looks," Julie offered. Personal experience had taught her that Smith seemed to have near super-human strength despite looking as if he could sell life insurance to seniors.

"Course he is," Dean muttered before he turned to her. "Now listen, I can't protect you or help Christine if you don't do your part."

A glance toward the run down hovel had Julie reassuring him, "I promise I'll do what you say."

At times the man before her had appeared even younger than herself, his full lips and wide liquid eyes only added to the effect. Then there were the times when, his lips were drawn tight and his jaw clenched hard, he looked years, maybe even centuries older than she'd ever be.

Without a hint of good humor, Dean Winchester stared hard at her and said, "If you don't follow my words to the T, I will drag your ass to safety and leave Christine behind. Do I make myself clear."

Julie flinched in pain at the man's harsh words. It was clear by his expression that he meant it. "Promise."

Whether it was something in Julie's gaze that gave voice to the lie in her words or something that Dean recognized from within himself, the man shook his head and rammed his point home. "If the shit hits the fan, and it will, you're my priority. Far as I'm concerned the chances that Christine is still alive are too slim to risk your life. Therefore, if you don't do exactly as I say I'm gonna pick you up and carry you out, leaving your friend behind."

Sure that he would follow through on the threat, Julie nodded her understanding. Though it would kill her to sit back and give over control to the stranger that stood so still beside her, there was no way she'd put Christine's life at risk, her own, maybe, but not her friend's.

This time Dean seemed to believer her. "Good. I'll do everything I can but I'm not about to let you die in the process."

Feeling more trepidation than she had since they'd left the cabin, Julie gestured toward the arsenal he carried and asked, "Do you think he'll have guns too?"

A spark flickered to life in Dean's vibrant green eyes as he gave a low laugh. "I'm thinking this dude isn't into the whole gun scene."

With images of chainsaws and axes now flooding her brain, Julie turned her gaze toward the house once more. "Chris' alive I know it."

"Well, then, lets go get her," Dean murmured out as he moved out.

888

Five minutes of sitting and waiting for the phone to ring had been enough for Sam. His dad was already an hour late in calling and the youth couldn't bare to wait any longer. The information he'd gathered was burned into his brain, making it impossible for him to be patient.

Dean might disappoint John by not checking in but he would never have willingly left Sam to worry. His brother had been gone for too long for Sam to pretend that everything was fine

With his father off playing at being a hero, Sam was the only one left to have his brother's back. Like everything in their lives, it came down to just the two of them.

The clincher for Sam was the idea of what Dean would do had their positions been switched. His big brother would never have sat around waiting for Dad, he would taken matters into his own hands hours ago.

Though Dean was older and had both the means of transportation and the field experience to get the job done, Sam didn't let that daunt him. He was nothing if not resourceful.

It took only fifteen minutes to gather up everything he'd need into one of the ratty duffels they normally used for clothes. With the map memorized, the young hunter approached the silent phone and picked up the headset.

Dialing the phone number he had memorized, Sam waited with bated breath for a familiar voice.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Jane,"

"Winchester, is that you?" Jane asked.

Sam breathed a sigh of relief at the good humor in her voice. "Yeah, it's me. I'm sorry, but I was calling to ask you a pretty big favor."

"Sure, what's up?"

With a silent plea to his brother to hang on, Sam began to explain to the young girl just what it was he needed.

**TBC**

**Chapter End Notes:**

Catch you all on Wednesday - Kel ;)


	7. Chapter 7

Dean looked up at the green door before him and reached for the knob. He didn't need to glance over his shoulder to know that Julie was only a hairsbreadth behind him, her hot breath on his neck was clue enough. Now that it had come down to it, her earlier bravado seemed to have deserted her. The green-eyed hunter had to admit, he couldn't blame the girl.

The pain-filled screams they'd heard only moments ago, hadn't done much to bolster his courage either.

Christine's screams meant she was still breathing, and as an added bonus it also meant psycho Smith was otherwise occupied. At least, that's what he told himself as he'd gestured for Julie to follow when he'd darted across the wide expanse of the driveway.

Confident that indecision would only slow them down, Dean turned the knob and eased the door open. A glance inside showed the long corridor that Julie had mentioned and nothing else.

Shotgun in hand the hunter moved inside, with the blonde right on his heels. As he moved down the hallway, he glanced toward the pictures that lined the walls.

"This is the photo collection you mentioned?" he asked Julie in a low whisper as he took a moment to study the nearest photo.

Julie hesitated a moment before answering, "It looks different."

Dean could only imagine it did, given the fact that the first portrait he looked at showed an obviously frightened woman with her expression frozen in fear. Though he supposed, from a distance, it might look like the woman was smiling, one only had to focus on her eyes to see the truth.

"They all looked different," Julie insisted.

The hunter leaned closer and ran one finger down the face of the wall. If he wasn't mistaken Sherwin-Williams wasn't Smith's paint supplier either. "It's dried blood."

At his statement, Julie seemed to fold in on herself. "No…"she moaned, her voice rising an octave in distress.

With no desire to be the one to add another layer of 'paint' to Smith's walls, Dean reached out and slammed his palm over the young woman's mouth. Leaning down slightly, he put his lips to her ears and breathed, "You want out? 'Cause things are only going to get worse."

Julie's wide-eyed gaze focused on Dean as she seemed to judge his honesty.

Needing her to understand, he nodded and eased up the hand that still covered her mouth. "You can turn back. You know the way."

In that moment, Dean was certain he had the young girl. In fact he would have bet his car on that fact if it wasn't for the sudden blood-curdling scream that rent the air.

The noise caused Julie to jump, her hands going up to cover her ears. Dean himself felt a sudden urge to move, to stop the other woman's pain and to destroy the creature that was causing it.

"Go," Dean said giving her a slight push toward the front door as he turned and moved up the hall on silent feet.

"No" came the whispered reply as he felt Julie move up behind him.

Unable to waste anymore time, he kept moving. He'd passed hundreds of portraits, all Dean were willing to bet were former victims, when the hall at last ended. The space to the left included the kitchen and an eating area; to the right were two doors and a set of steps.

As he took in the room by the day's dying light, he found himself with the sudden urge to vomit. The floor beneath his feet was wooden, splintered and stained, there was dry gore smeared over nearly all of it.

The walls were a dark rust color that put him in mind of dried blood. A rotten smell of flesh, blood, and bile that was causing his eyes to water and his stomach rebel seemed to confirm the image.

The countertops might have at one-time been white, but years of putrid use had turned them a dark brown. Both the fridge and the stove were rusted out heaps that sported spray patterns which didn't bode well for any of them.

Apparently, when Smith was done doing whatever it was he did, he brought the bodies to the kitchen for either disposal or storage.

Curiosity insisted that he check out the fridge to see just how whacked the killer was. As he moved toward the appliance, Julie remained glued to his back, a nearly inaudible whimper the only sound she made.

It wasn't until he reached his hand out, with the intention of pulling open the fridge that she put her fear into words.

"NO…no…no…no…no," the girl muttered as she reached out to grip the sleeve of his jacket. "Don't."

Her moaned protest had Dean reconsidering what he was about to do. He really wasn't sure he wanted to see the reality of what his mind kept trying to imagine. The idea of Tupperware bins full of body parts neatly lined up on the fridge shelves was enough to still his hand.

"'K," he whispered roughly as he turned from the kitchen and moved toward the two doors near the stairs.

As soon as he gave up on examining the fridge, Julie released the grip she had on his jacket and cowered behind him once more. Dean had to admit he really didn't mind her barnacle impression. The less courage the blonde showed the safer she'd be. At least behind him she'd have a fighting chance to get gone if this whole thing went south.

When, Dean amended to himself with a bitter twist to his lips. After all, he was facing an unknown, with no more than some holy water and a shotgun full of rock salt. He found himself pushing away the wish that his 'geek' brother was with him. At least with Sam, he'd still be screwed, but he might have some clue what they were dealing with. Even at sixteen, the youth had more than proved himself to be the king of research.

"Stand back," Dean whispered as he went to open the first door they'd come to.

Julie did as he requested but just barely. Dean knew that if he reached behind him he'd still be able to brush her coat. Knowing that was probably as far from his side as he'd be able to peel her, he let it go and focused his attention, and his shotgun, on the wood before him.

"Bathroom," the woman muttered.

Dean nodded to show he understood and turned the knob. As he slid the door open a smell, not unlike a backed up sewer, hit him in the face making his eyes water and his stomach clench in protest.

The sound of Julie gagging did nothing to aid his own nausea. Careful to draw in air only through his mouth, Dean ignored the young girl and flipped on the light. The single bulb, dangling from a wire over the sink, threw the bathroom into sharp relief.

The young hunter only wished it hadn't.

With one hand, he pushed a now whimpering Julie away from the opening and backed out, content that the brown stained toilet, and moldy-yellowed sink offered nothing in the way of help or hindrance.

Easing the door closed once more, Dean looked at the pasty-faced girl, and grimaced. "I'm guessing it didn't look like that before?"

Not recognizing the sarcasm in his tone Julie shook her head, her eyes so wide and wet she rivaled an anime cartoon, and said, "No, it was…nice."

Proud of himself for not rolling his eyes at the girl's understatement, Dean motioned toward the second door. "Basement," he whispered, hoping he was right. He'd done a perimeter check earlier, finding four bricked up windows set high in the foundation, but no outside entrance. There had to be inside access.

The girl acknowledged his words with a nod before she tucked herself against him once more.

Feigning bravery, Dean slipped the door open and gazed down into the black abyss. He was right, a set of stairs disappeared into complete and utter darkness. The odor winding its way up from the opening, though not as strong as the smell in the bathroom, definitely wouldn't be beat back with a simple can of air freshener.

Dean had no desire to go down those steps, in fact, he was pretty sure he'd rather have his fingernails pulled out with a rusty set of pliers than step foot on the rickety wood. However, heading upstairs without having fully checked out his surroundings would be a stupid and rookie move. If there was another exit to the small house, or god forbid more than one…well, whatever Smith was, then he needed to know.

He was already short on intel, he couldn't afford to leave anything else up to chance. A glance back at Julie nearly made him insist she stay upstairs. Tears were making their way down her chin as she stood with her bad arm hugging her side. With her other she held tight to the tire iron he'd given to her earlier.

Pulling out the last dry handkerchief he'd had in his stash, he placed the rag in her bad hand and said, "You have to come down with me, it's not safe up here."

At his words, Julie shook her head and backed up. "No way, I can't go down there."

"You can, and for your friend, you will," Dean insisted. He had no doubt the girl had reserves of strength she had only begun to tap.

He had seen flashes of that strength off and on all day but no more so then when he'd set her dislocated shoulder. Despite the non-stop weep-fest, the girl had guts.

With a sniff that had Dean looking pointedly toward the handkerchief she still clutched, the young woman nodded and gestured toward the dark opening. "After you," she warbled.

Dean shot her a fleeting smile, before he turned to face the dark stairs. As he began his descent, he pulled his flashlight from the inside of his pocket. "Close the door," he whispered as he crept down the stairs, Julie right on his tail.

Now cut off from the light of the ground floor, they found themselves in complete and total darkness. Julie's panicked breathing the only sound to be heard. "Easy," he murmured as he clicked on the flashlight, lighting a small section of the stairs.

Once his feet touched bottom, he stayed by the stairs, and panned his light around the cavern-like room. He had found Smith's graveyard, of that Dean had no doubt.

The basement consisted of nothing more than four block walls and a dirt floor. Dirt that had, apparently, been dug up more times than he wanted to count. He could clearly imagine, Smith down here tending to his garden of death. Large bags of lime, and shovels hinted at the fact that Smith wasn't completely buckets of crazy. The man most likely used the mineral to help aid in decomposition and cut down on the smell. Dean still couldn't imagine what the place must reek like in the hot Kentucky summers.

He moved to step off the bottom step only to have Julie grab at him like a life preserver.

"Don't, please Dean," the girl begged as she maintained her death grip on his jacket.

Honestly not relishing the thought of walking across the loamy soil, Dean relented and stayed where he was. He could clearly see each wall and there appeared to be no exit. Nor was there anywhere to hide.

"Let's go," he whispered as he turned and gestured for Julie to lead the way.

Taking the reprieve to heart, she darted back up the steps and away from the mass grave.

"Julie!" Dean warned as the young woman burst out of the basement door.

888

Sam stepped up to the red Subaru with a weak smile and leaned against the open driver's side window. "Thanks for coming."

Jane flashed him a wink and set the car in park. "No problem, just don't think I'll come running every time you flash those puppy eyes at me."

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Sam couldn't help the thrill that raced down his spine at the red-heads words. He didn't know what had surprised him more, the fact that he'd called her for help, or that she'd come through for him without hesitation.

"Seriously, I can't thank you enough."

This time the pretty teen tilted her head slightly as if she didn't understand. "We're friends, Sam. You need something, I'm gonna do my best to help."

Unable to express just how much he appreciated her words, Sam ducked his head and pecked the pretty girl's cheek. "Still, thanks. If it was anybody but Dean…" Sam allowed his words to trail off as Jane pinned him with her sharp gaze.

"I know how close you and your brother are. I get it."

Jane's words, as she climbed from the car, had Sam studying her closely. "What do you mean you know?"

"I've watched your brother pick you up from school without fail since you came here, Sam."

Sam nodded and pushed harder. "Yeah, so has everyone else in school, means nothing. Why do you think we're so close?"

This time it was Julie that faltered a bit. "One day I had a chat with your brother before you came out."

"My brother doesn't just chat with pretty girls," Sam snapped hating the jealous tone in his voice. What was worse, he wasn't sure if he was resentful that Dean's wandering eye had touched upon Jane, or if it was the fact that the girl had dared to approach his brother.

A slight touch of awe edged into Jane's words as she confessed, "He sure takes the big brother thing seriously."

Sam smiled slightly as a sudden image of Dean, leaning against his muscle car, his black gaze searching out signs of trouble came to mind. "Yeah, well it's pretty much just the two of us."

"I got that, well and he made it clear that the only way he'd help me with you was if I promised not to hurt you."

"Help you with me?"

This time it was Jane that ducked her head in embarrassment. "Sam, I've been into you all school year and you just kept looking straight through me."

Sam's eyes widened in surprise as he worked to make sense of the pretty red-head's confession, "You have?"

"Yeah, you dumb-nut, I have, you kept ignoring all my hints. Today in class was my last ditch effort."

As carefully as he knew how, Sam reached out and caressed the bruised skin around Jane's eye. "Sorry it didn't work out a bit better."

The redhead reached up and grasped his hand in her own. "I'm not."

With his heart pounding, Sam leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Jane's upturned lips. "Neither am I," he confessed.

"Good," she said with a heart stopping smile. "So, go get that brother of yours and maybe next time we can dispense with all the injuries."

"Sounds good," he replied as he stepped back and reached for the duffle he'd left on the ground.

Once he had settled behind the wheel of the still running Subaru, Sam looked up at Jane and asked, "You've got a ride home?"

The girl nodded as she bent down to face him through the window. "Yup, I'm all set. Carrie'll be here in a minute to pick me up."

"Won't your folks care?" Though he had called her for help, he wasn't willing to risk getting her in trouble. If need be he was more than capable of 'borrowing' transportation. He simply didn't want to.

"Naw, I told my dad it was making a funny noise, told him I know a great mechanic who was willing to take a look at it for the weekend."

"So you lied," Sam chided.

"Nope, your brother's a mechanic, and you're going to pick him up, so technically, if it does make a noise I'll expect him to fix it."

"Just how much talking did you and Dean do?"

This time it was Jane that kissed him. "Enough to know that his only two interests are you and that car of his."

Unable to deny her words, Sam nodded and said, "I'll be back as soon as I can."

Throwing the redhead one last wave, Sam backed out of the driveway and headed toward the highway.

888

Smith gazed down at Christine's sleek form with a fond smile. The petite brunette had proven herself to be a fighter. Her constant struggling and refusal to give voice to her pain pleased him to no end.

She was a rare and unusual gift.

So far, he'd been careful to only do minimum damage. He didn't want to risk breaking her spirit or her body too soon. It would be disappointing to lose her before he had Julie in his grasp.

Ghosting his hand over the bruises that were beginning form on her soft skin, Smith reassured his captive, "You just sit tight. I'm heading out right now to bring back the lovely Julie and her would-be knight."

At the mention of her friend, Christine's eyes rolled back in her head and she ground out, "Leave…her."

"Aren't you just a sweet girl. It'll be so much fun to find out if she's as worried about you when it's her turn for a little readjustment."

Smith reached out and placed his hands on the small wheel that controlled the rollers on the bed. Giving it only the slightest of turns, he relished Christine's scream of pain. He knew from experience that sound would soon be rivaled only by the pops of her joints as her bones dislocated and then snapped altogether.

Eager to get down to business, Smith left his young guest and headed out the door. As he reached the top of the stairs, he noticed a foul odor. Unsure of what it might be, he wrinkled his nose in distaste and made his way down the steps on quiet feet. The smell was light and floral, a clean scent that made the insides of his nose burn.

As he eased his way down the stairs, he caught a whiff of something stronger, something that sent bile creeping up the back of his throat.

The hunter.

The smell of the man's honor and good intentions had wormed its way through Smith's house, bringing with it feelings of hope. It was enough to make him want to vomit. Though he'd intended to bring both Julie and her young man here to his house, the plan had been to make them suffer first, not allow them to mount a rescue mission.

His house was his sanctuary, it was the one place left on earth that he could retreat to when everything became too bright, too peaceful. Then along comes this hunter, with his noble soul, filling Julie with hope for her friend.

He wouldn't stand for it. This boy would be broken, heart, body and soul, and Smith would relish doing it.

Careful not to show himself, he edged his way down the bottom step wrinkling his nose as the smell grew stronger. The ground floor looked clear, with no sign of either the young blonde or the boy in sight. As he moved forward on silent feet his gaze moved toward the bathroom door that was shut tight. Earlier, he was certain the door had been slightly ajar.

Ignoring the urge to vomit, the sliver-haired man moved toward the basement and drew in a deep breath. Even with the door closed, the smell that was rising from cellar told him what he needed to know. A quick and silent trip into the kitchen for the hammer he used to hang his artwork with and he was ready to go.

Weapon in hand, he moved toward the bathroom and secreted himself inside. Leaving the door slightly ajar, he waited. He wasn't willing to risk a direct confrontation, in doing so he risked losing one of his victims. Instead, he would take out one of them right away, leaving him free to deal with the second.

The sound of pounding footsteps coming up from the cellar was all the warning he could have asked for. Ready to pounce, he watched as the basement door was flung wide open.

888

"Julie!"

Julie ignored Dean's warning and continued her mindless flight up the stairs. The sight of Smith's burial ground had brought it home to her just how crappy their chances of survival were. It was obvious the bastard had the psycho serial killer thing down pat. Despite, Dean's obvious skill, Julie was now certain they didn't stand a chance.

What made things worse was in her desire to help Christine she'd now put the young cop's life on the line as well.

With a silent sob she flung open the basement door and went to move through it only to be brought to a standstill by Dean's strong grip.

"Easy," the young man breathed as he pulled her back down a step and wrapped one strong arm around her.

The solid feel of his chest at her back and the warmth of his breath against her neck was all too great a reminder that she'd led him to his death. She should have allowed him to go for help. Though she was willing to die for her friend, she shouldn't have forced that same fate on the man that held her close.

With a whimper, she apologized, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have gotten you involved. We're all gonna die and it's my fault."

Suprisingly, her words were met with a squeeze and a low chuckle. "Trust me when I say we're not gonna die. As for getting involved, it's what I do."

"Yeah, well, it's not your job to sacrifice yourself blindly," Julie countered.

"Actually…how about you just trust me when I say this isn't the first time."

With a nod and a sniff, Julie insisted, "I'm still sorry."

"Listen, I'll accept your apology as long as you promise me you've learned your lesson, no more bathroom breaks in 'squeal like a pig' country."

Dean's words startled a laugh out of her causing a lightness in her chest. "Deal."

"Good," he affirmed as he shifted her over a bit, so he could get past her. "Now, let's go get Christine."

Julie watched by the glow from the open doorway as Dean moved up the stairs. The grace with which he carried himself was enough to make her wish they'd met under different circumstances.

He cautiously peeked out the open door and then moved out of her line of sight.

She was about to follow him out when she heard a sudden thump, followed by a grunt of pain. The sound of another grunt had her moving up the stairs, tire iron gripped tight in her good hand.

Unable to do much, but needing to at least try, she paused in the doorway to get her bearings. As she feared Smith had Dean pushed up against a wall, with some kind of tool shoved up and under the younger man's chin.

Julie tightened her grip and moved forward intending to help when Dean's eyes flicked toward her.

"Run," the younger man choked out as he continued to struggle against Smith's grip.

"Julie," the silver-haired devil intoned, "Why don't you save us both some trouble and drop that crude weapon."

Despite knowing it would be the kiss of death, Julie had a sudden urge to just give into the bastard that was grinning cruelly over his shoulder at her. The idea that they could win against such a monster just seemed like an impossible dream. The only thing that stopped her was Dean's continued struggle.

She knew it in her bones that no matter her choice the green-eyed man wouldn't give up. Given the fact that he was in this situation to begin with because of her, she couldn't ignore his silent plea to fight.

As if she'd spoken her decision to keep on fighting aloud, Dean suddenly surged up against Smith and broke the older man's hold. Julie took advantage of Smith's momentary distraction and darted back down the stairs. With nowhere to run her only thought was to find a place to lay in wait for the killer. It wasn't really a plan, as much as a delayed death wish, but it was the best she could come up with.

Using the light from the top of the stairs to trip her way down the steps, she reached the ground floor only to hear another cry, this time from Smith, as something heavy shoved the open door closed.

Plunged into sudden darkness, with only a miasma of smell to guide her, Julie stumbled and fell. Throwing out her hands to break her fall, she shuddered as they sank deep into the freshly overturned soil. A waft of decaying air, ghosted over her face as she scrambled to get her feet beneath her once more.

Up at last, she backed up until the edge of the wooden stairs was hitting her ankles. Afraid to move on, but even more afraid of the noises of battle from upstairs, Julie was at a loss. Shoving away images of skeletons and half-rotted corpses, she reached out her good hand until she felt the length of iron hit the stair railing.

With something solid to hang onto, Julie began to work her way around the steps. From what she could recall of her earlier descent, the basement was a large square with nothing but the steps themselves to break up the emptiness.

Once she'd circled the wooden structure, she put her back against the steps and hunkered down to wait. The muffled sounds of a fight continued from up above. Given the number of times she heard Smith roar in pain or anger, she had to figure Dean was giving as good as he got. With a litany of prayers that the younger man would prevail, Julie settled down to await the outcome.

At last there was a mighty crash combined with the tinkling of glass, that led Julie to believe someone had been thrown into the wall. Then the lone sound of one set of footsteps thumping their way across the floor above.

As the door above swung open, Julie waited with bated breath to see who the victor was.

"Julie," Smith called in a sing-song voice. "You're knight in shining amour has been vanquished, it's time, you, my dear maiden, surrendered."

All thoughts of trying to fight off Smith disappeared at the sound of his voice. Muted with horror, Julie faced the underside of the steps and watched the back of his heavy boots clump down the steps. Backing up, she put one hand behind her and felt for the wall.

She'd backed up a half-dozen steps when it finally occurred to her she hadn't hit the cinderblocks yet. Using the dim light of the open door above, she glanced behind her and noticed a hint of darkness that the light was unable to penetrate. Before she could doubt herself, Julie moved toward the hole, ducking a little to fit inside.

Immersed in darkness, the young blonde never looked back. Instead, she moved steadily forward, hunched to avoid the low ceiling and with arms outstretched in caution.

The sound of Smith hitting the bottom stair sent chills down her spine and caused her to speed up. No matter where the tunnel was going to end up, it had to be better than what she was leaving behind. The fact that it might end up a dead-end was something Julie refused to consider.

888

"Julie, You're knight in shining amour has been vanquished, it's time, you, my dear maiden, surrendered."

Smith's words worked better than a sharp slap at bringing Dean back to the world of the living. With a groan he flattened his palms to the wooden floor and pushed himself upright. A careful shake of his head, helped to clear out the last of the cobwebs that Smith's blow had caused.

Luckily for him, he had inherited his father's hard head. Both John's stubbornness and his father's capacity for taking a beating were traits that had served Dean well. As he listened to Smith make his way down the basement steps, Dean had a feeling both qualities would soon be called into use.

"Smith!" he roared, hoping to distract the creature from his current hunt. With a wince at the pain that tore through his head at his own cry, he moved toward the staircase and peered down into the darkness.

His quarry stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking back at Dean with a feral grin. Despite the darkness, Smith's eyes shined silver giving the hunter his second clue that the man was less than human. The first clue had been the ass-whupping Dean had just been served. There was no way the older man could have packed that hard a punch unless he was something more than he seemed.

If Julie was to have even a remote chance at getting gone, he needed to keep the killer occupied.

"That all you got old man," Dean sneered as he made a come and get me gesture to the creature below. He knew the statement would have packed more punch if blood wasn't free-flowing from a cut just above his eye, but all in all he felt his delivery was on the money.

His words seemed to do the trick, as Smith's face lit up with a smile. The older man placed one booted foot on the stairs and sang out, "Julie, my dear, it seems as if your hero here needs a bit more instruction on how to respect his elders."

With a deep breath to help settle his nerves, Dean backed up a step and replied, "You can give it a go, Smith, but, I doubt you'll succeed where a half-dozen principles all failed."

Again, Smith's eyes flashed silver as the he crept up the stairs. "Unlike those unfortunate men, I have a few tricks up my sleeve that I've yet to use."

888

Sam slowed as a mile marker flashed by and pulled the small red car off onto the shoulder. Leaving the car running, he grabbed a flashlight and climbed out of the vehicle. Taking only a moment to stretch out his stiffness, he then began to pan the light over the gravel roadway, looking for some sign that his brother had indeed been here.

It took only minutes for Sam to stumble upon a set of tire tracks that could easily have belonged to the Impala. The tire track along with his brother's distinctive boot print was confirmation enough for Sam that Dean had indeed stopped here.

Confident that he'd picked up his brother's trail, Sam climbed back in his car and continued down the roadway. Despite being grateful to Jane for the use of her car, he couldn't help feeling disloyal to both his brother and his brother's baby. The Subaru's whining engine, reinforced just how far out of his realm of normal he'd gone.

On the other hand, he kept desperately wishing he could find his brother if only to listen to the older man's hour long tirade about foreign vehicles and just what constitutes a pussy car. It was a rant that Sam had listened to so often he could probably recite it verbatim.

Now missing his brother, as he'd never before missed his own father, Sam swiped a hand across his eyes and continued down the highway.

He hadn't been moving for long, when he spotted the turn off the detective had told him Dean had taken. More than ready to find his brother, Sam took the turn.

**TBC**


	8. Chapter 8

"Smith!"

Dean's muffled challenge worked as the catalyst Julie needed to continue her journey through the darkness. It was obvious her benevolent stranger was doing everything in his power to keep her safe. For Julie to stop now and cower in terror as she wanted would be for her to fail both Dean and Christine.

They needed help.

She should have allowed Dean to go for help when he'd suggested it instead of blindly leading the young officer into this mess. Now, he was throwing himself in the line of fire to protect her. She had to do something.

With her hands held out before her, Julie kept up her forward momentum. She had no idea where the tunnel would lead her, but it couldn't be anywhere worse than what she'd just vacated.

The smoothly hewn walls seemed to be made of stone as was the flooring. Now that she'd traveled some distance, noise had become limited to the sound of her own panicked breathing and echoing footfalls.

The vile smell of Smith's house gave way to one of damp and mold just as she realized she was traveling slightly uphill. Anxious to leave the dank tunnel, the leggy blonde picked up her pace, her arms held out before her.

Hope began to replace despair when she realized she could see the faint outline of her hands. As the light grew stronger, a fresh breeze wafted over her face bringing with it the smell of fresh air.

The clean sent of pine and earth was enough to drive all thoughts of her aching shoulder away, replacing them instead with thoughts of freedom. Picking up speed, she barely noticed when the man-made tunnel walls gave way to the more natural formation of a cave.

Gaze pinned to the small opening she could barely make out, Julie burst from the cave with a desperate cry.

888

"Hullo?"

John Winchester closed his eyes at the cry that reverberated through the old schoolhouse. It had been nearly a half-hour since the boys had left to find help. Since then despite his best efforts he'd been unable to free himself.

As near as he could tell he was unhurt. However, the crossbeam that had him pinned was bearing most of the weight of the collapsed floor. No matter how he worked to pull his leg free, he couldn't get loose.

"Yeah!" he shouted his voice hoarse from the dust and dirt that had been kicked up at his fall.

Night had long since fallen leaving the elder Winchester in the dark, now though as he watched the hole above, he noticed a growing light. With his gaze pinned to the ragged opening above, he silently urged whoever had found him to hurry.

The more time that passed, the more certain he was that Sam would do something stupid. That something would no doubt be setting off to find his brother on his own. John, more times than not, regretted the sense of self-reliance he'd fostered in both his boys. It always came back to bite him in the ass just when he least expected it.

Though Sam was not as likely to run off half-cocked, when it came to his older brother all bets were off. In defense of Dean, his youngest son became a stranger. A feral, snarling bastard that would mow down anything that stood between him and the twenty-year old, even if that someone was their own father.

It was a trait that had grown as exponentially as his relationship with Sam had deteriorated. Once upon a time, his baby boy had entrusted John to look out for Dean. That was no longer the case, now Sam was just as likely to turn on John as to turn to him for help.

"Hey, dude, you okay?"

John closed his eyes briefly as a grizzled old man peered over the lip of the rotten floor. No wonder it had taken so long for help to come, if those boys had to wait for gramps to hobble his ass down to the abandoned school.

"Yeah, believe it or not I'm good. Just stuck."

"Well, crap, that sucks."

Biting back the curse he longed to utter, John replied easily, "Yeah, you said it. You think you could find someone to help get me out of here?"

The grizzled man shot a line of spit from his mouth, the dregs dripping down onto his yellowed beard and pushed the baseball cap that rested on his head back. "We'll getcha' out, I brought Daryl."

"Daryl?" John's gaze tried to penetrate the void beyond the old-man but was unable.

"Yup, Daryl. He'll get you out, if them steps don't collapse under him," The man drawled.

Still unsure who or even what Daryl was, John settled down to wait. It was obvious that rushing this rescue was going to be impossible. Instead, he set his mind to just where his oldest son had disappeared to.

888

Dean was shit out of luck. While that was really nothing new, given the fact his name was Winchester, it still sucked. You'd think by now he would have gotten used to having the crap knocked out of him by every freak of nature that crossed his path. Unfortunately the decidedly cold breeze wafting over his bare legs made it clear that this freak hadn't been satisfied with just beating him unconscious.

With a prayer of thanks that at least his brother was safe from Smith's brand of crazy, he worked to pry one eye open.

"You awake?" a voice rasped.

Unsure if he'd be able to generate any sound, Dean opened his mouth and croaked, "Honestly, not sure."

"If it looks like your worst nightmare, then you're awake," the woman replied.

Dean pulled at the restraints that held down his arms and registered the fact that he wore only his boxers and a tee-shirt. He lay upon a bare bed frame, with the lower half of his legs hanging off. "More like a bad S & M video. Smith's not gonna walk in here wearing a black leather bustier and holding a whip is he?"

"I'm thinking it's more of a snuff film," the woman replied.

Despite the restraints, Dean struggled against his bonds in order to put a face to the voice.

Lying prone and chained to the filthy floor was a dark haired woman wearing nothing but a pair of dirty cotton panties and bra.

"Christine?"

At his words tears pooled in the young woman's eyes. "Yeah," she confirmed, "is Julie alive?"

Guilt lanced through Dean at the hope in her eyes. "Far as I know, I tried distracting Smith, give her time to get away."

With a moan that could have been a laugh, the broken woman replied, "You distracted him alright. I thought he was gonna pop a blood vessel he was so pissed. He pulled me off that thing and gave you the place of honor."

Dean managed a smile at the idea that he'd thrown a wrench in the bastard's plans. "Good, any idea where Grandpa Munster went?"

"You and I are here," Christine groaned, "that just leaves Jules."

"How long's he been gone?" Dean questioned as he studied the handcuffs that held him down. Given the right tool, he'd be able to pick the cuffs in less than a minute.

"Not sure, I passed out for a bit. I've been awake for about fifteen minutes now."

"Good," Dean muttered as he strained this way and that looking for something he could use. His examination produced nothing that he could reach, but he did happen to notice his gear stashed in the corner of the room.

"Good?"

His boots, jeans and duffle bag were piled up, just begging to be of use. "Yeah, good. That means he's having a hard time finding her."

"She can't outrun him."

Dean nodded his head in agreement as he continued working the problem at hand. "But, she can avoid him long enough to get to safety. Can you move at all?"

Dark eyes, surrounded by even darker bruises, glanced up to meet Dean's steady gaze. "No," she whimpered.

The hunter's heart went out to the poor young girl. It was obvious whatever Smith had done he'd come close to destroying her. With that in mind, he couldn't help but be thankful he'd managed to turn Smith's ire upon himself. Only problem was, if Smith got away with whatever he planned to do, the woman would be left unprotected and at his mercy once more.

"I need to know what he plans. Do you have any idea?"

A single tear escaped Christine's large brown eyes. "I think that axe might have something to do with it."

Almost against his will, Dean's bright green gaze darted toward the closed door, where an axe leaned against the discolored wall. "He didn't use it on you."

"What do you know about Greek legends?"

Suddenly certain he'd rather not know, but unable to turn away any information that might help to save them, Dean replied, "A bit actually." Ancient history and cultural studies were one area of schooling that even Dean had paid attention to. In their line of work, most of the creatures that crossed their paths originated somewhere. Plus one couldn't live with Sam Winchester and not pick up a few things.

"Yeah, well, I remember reading a story about one of Poseidon's sons." The young woman took a shallow breath and continued, "Story goes he used to lure in travelers, once he had them in the house, he would offer them his spare bed."

"Well, that can't be good."

Christine frowned at his joking tone. "Anyway, once the traveler lay down, he would strap them down. If the victim was too short..." here she gestured toward herself, "he would stretch them until they fit the bed. If they were too tall..."

Dean's gaze shot to the axe once more. "You've got to be kidding me."

"There's an awful lot of you hanging off that bed," Christine offered.

"What happened to...uh..."

"Procrustes," she supplied, "supposedly he was killed by Theseus. He was tortured on his own bed."

"I guess there's some kind of poetic justice in that," Dean replied wryly. "So you think Smith's actually this Procrustes?"

Christine's eyes which had slid shut at the end of her tail popped open at Dean's words. Even from across the room, he could clearly see the sudden wariness in her gaze. He quickly backtracked, "I mean, Smith's gettin' his rocks off by playing host?"

"Something like that," the young girl murmured as she relaxed once more.

"Okay, well I'm not gonna wait around for Smith to come size me up. We're getting gone while the getting's good."

Without opening her eyes, she asked, "And how do you propose we do that?"

"Well, for beginners, I'm gonna need you to toss me one of the bobby pins you have in your hair. Then I'm gonna get us both out of here."

Even from this distance Dean could see Christine's smirk. "Hate to break it to you, Houdini, but I don't have any bobby pins."

Undeterred, he tried another tact. "Take off your bra."

Christine snorted. "Like I haven't heard that one before, 'Oh, we're in a life threatening position, quick take off your bra!'"

Dean stretched even more to meet the brunette's sardonic smirk. "I promise you if my shorts came with under wire I'd be more than happy to sacrifice them for the cause."

"You can really pick a lock with the under wire from a push-up bra?"

"I know, it's a gift. However, with my hands strung up I won't be able to get us free."

"So....what's the point?"

With his best smile firmly in place, Dean assured her, "I'm gonna talk you through it."

Doubt clouded Christine's expression. "I don't think..."

"You can do it, I promise," the hunter pressed.

More tears made their way down her pixie-like face. "It's not that. I don't think I can get it off. Everything just hurts so much."

Given the bruises covering the young girl's olive skin, Dean couldn't doubt her words. Problem was he was out of ideas and Smith wouldn't stay away forever. "Well, you could just lay there till Smith gets his shit together and gets back here."

With a pained groan Christine muttered, "low blow. Don't look."

Glad that she was able to push through the pain, Dean averted his eyes and moved onto the next phase of his plan. Getting loose was all fine and well, but getting the nearly incapacitated Christine out of danger was not gonna be a walk in the park either.

888

Sam strained his eyes as he studied the dark road before him. So far he'd found no sign of either his brother or the Impala. He cursed himself for his earlier optimism. Just because he knew his brother had taken this road, didn't mean he was going to find a giant arrow pointing leading him to Dean. Any one of the turnoffs he had passed could have been the one the twenty year old took.

"Come on, Dean," he muttered as he slowed to a near crawl. The headlights of the Subaru did little to cut through the thick forest that surrounded them. "Come on."

Just then Sam caught a flash of white from the corner of his eye darting toward the road. Slamming on his brakes, the car fish-tailing slightly, he came to a jolting stop only inches from the woman that now stood shaking before him.

Wide eyed and frozen, she gasped for breath. He had no doubt if he'd been traveling even five miles an hour faster he wouldn't have been able to stop. With a decidedly shaky hand, he put the car into park and climbed from the vehicle.

"Are you all right?" he called out as he moved toward the young blonde woman.

"He's coming," she said with a moan as she suddenly darted toward the passenger-side door.

Before Sam could react she'd climbed inside and was screaming at him to move. Unsure of what was happening but certain the woman was scared out of her mind, Sam re-claimed his seat.

As soon as he was settled, she slammed one hand down on the dashboard and screamed, "Go, go, go!"

Acting on instinct alone, Sam threw the car into gear and hit the accelerator. Though he'd only had his license for a couple months now, he'd learned to drive nearly two years ago. As soon as his first major growth spurt had allowed him to reach the pedals, Dean had begun his lessons. His older brother had always placed a major emphasis in not only knowing how to drive, but also in how to get the most out of your vehicle. A glimpse at the rear-view mirror showed a dark figure dashing into the road behind them making him thankful for the lessons.

The girl sat rocking in her seat one hand braced on the dashboard as she seemed to quietly urge the car to go faster.

Though he was reluctant to acknowledge it, Sam couldn't help but note that the dark figure kept up only a foot off the bumper until he at last crested forty-five miles per hour. It was only then that the car began to pull away.

A high-pitched keening sound drew his attention away from the roadway behind them and focused it on the girl next to him. "It's okay," he reassured her.

"No," she cried, "No, it's not okay. I left him. I left both of them."

Unsure of what she meant, but confident that it couldn't be good, Sam began to look for a place to pull over.

"Keep going," the blonde urged.

"We lost him," Sam answered automatically. A quick glance in the rear-view confirmed that his words were true.

"Doesn't matter, he said to go to the clearing, if anything went wrong I had to get to the clearing."

Slightly afraid of the babbling woman at his side, Sam settled on agreeing with her. "Okay, the clearing, yeah, right, you don't happen to know where this clearing is do you?"

His words served to bring the woman's focus off the road behind them and settle it firmly on the road before them. "Just keep going, we're nearly there."

"Will do," Sam replied as his gaze again darted toward his rear-view. "Can you tell me what's going on? Maybe I can help you."

With a dismissive gesture the girl leaned slightly forward one hand still resting lightly on the dashboard, the other held close to her body. "You can't help me, he told me to get to the clearing, that I would be safe there, safe until they come. They'll come he promised."

"Right, the clearing."

"The clearing...clearing...clearing...clearing...," she repeated until her voice trailed off completely.

"You wanna tell me about your friend back there?"

"He's got them," she moaned.

Sam glanced toward her as she brought a scrap of bright red material up and under her nose with a huge snort. The cloth was red patterned with white and appeared to be a bandanna. Ragged and wet with use it was obviously not the first time the girl had used the handkerchief.

Without thinking, he reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a clean bright red bandana. As he listened to the woman sniffle and snort, he could only imagine just how grossed out his brother would be.

Despite having seen Sam through all his childhood ailments with nary a complaint, snot was the one body fluid that had always set the elder Winchester on edge. The moment Sam had felt the slightest head-cold coming on, his older brother would press upon him hanky after hanky in a desperate attempt to keep a much younger Sam from sniffling.

Holding the cloth out to the woman Sam offered, "Here, looks like you need a clean one."

The woman stared with wild eyes at the offering for a long tense moment before dragging her old handkerchief back toward her chest. "No, I'm gonna give this one back to him," she declared in a firm voice.

"Give it back to him?" Sam questioned, with a sinking feeling in his stomach.

"There," she yelled, as she ignored him and practically climbed over his lap, pointing toward the left.

With one arm, he shoved her back into her seat and slowed to a near crawl. There on the left was a break in the near constant wall of pine trees. With a prayer that he didn't get Jane's car stuck, he maneuvered his way into the clearing.

It was only once he was fully inside the bit of open space that he saw a familiar shape looming out of the darkness.

"Dean," he breathed, as a million emotions threatened to overwhelm him.

His brother's car sat only feet away, chrome shining bright in the moonlit night. He'd found his brother, but not before the older hunter had found trouble. All of a sudden, what he'd dismissed earlier as mindless babbling began to take on a great significance.

"Did you say Dean?" she questioned as she reached out and wrapped one long-fingered hand around his bicep.

Rather than the relief he'd hoped for, the idea that this woman knew his brother and was most likely following the other hunter's instructions only served to make Sam feel nauseas. "My brother, Dean," he bit out as he carefully watched her expression.

"Are you kidding me? You're the help I'm supposed to wait for? You're a baby for christ's sake."

The girl's outburst worked like a slap in his face, drawing him out of his stupor. With a growl, he shoved her backward wedging her between the seat and the door. "Where's my brother?"

His action seemed to prove something to the young woman as she blinked in shock. "I don't know. I did what he told me to do. He said to come here to the clearing, to wait in the shack till help came."

Sam jerked his head up and focused on the clearing. There to the northwest stood a dilapidated building that had seen better times. Giving her no time to protest, he shoved open the door of the car and wrenched the girl over the bucket seats and out his side of the car. "Come on," he ordered.

Whether it was self-preservation or just an eagerness to finally reach her destination, the young woman kept up with his long-legged stride. As he moved past Dean's baby, he noted the fact that she was resting on three flat tires. He could only imagine how pissed his brother would be when he found out.

Once he reached the threshold, he tucked the girl securely behind him and pulled out the gun he'd stashed in the waistband of his jeans. Though he had no clue what he was dealing with the weapon offered him a measure of peace.

Carefully, he edged his way into the doorway and did a quick scan of the barren room. The only thing of interest was the salt line that ran before the door and the windows and one of his brother's familiar green duffle bags resting near the opening.

With a quick glance at the clearing behind him, Sam pulled the woman forward and shoved her inside the hovel. "Who are you and where's my brother?" he questioned as soon as she was safe behind the salt line.

If the other hunter had warned the woman to come back here at the first sign of trouble, like she said, then he could only assume she was a victim not a threat. Still, he'd learned enough in his sixteen years to realize that threats came in all shapes and sizes.

"He's at the house, or," she amended, "at least I think he is. We were together, when Smith jumped us. I found my way out, but your brother..."

"My brother what?" Sam snarled.

"I don't think he made it out. Now that freak has him and Christine," the girl moaned.

Sam waved a hand in desperation and tried another tact. "Okay, listen, just start at the beginning. What's your name?"

The young girl took a deep breath and began, "My name's Julie..."

**TBC**

**Chapter End Notes**:

Okay so here we go, Sammyboy to the rescue ;) Catch you next week - kel ;)


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Notes: **Well, here we go. I would just like to say thanks to everyone that's reading, thanks for all the wonderful reviews, and thanks to whoever nominated this fic for the ungen awards, you guys are the greatest!! - Kel ;)

I would also like to thank Bayre for the super quick beta, any mistakes are as always my own as I tend to keep tweeking my work up until the moment I hit that little add story button (and sometimes even after) - Kel

**Chapter 9**

888

**Chapter End Notes:**

Alright, roll on Wednesday. - Kel ;)

John shifted slightly trying to ease the ache that had taken up permanent residence in his lower back. The pain was a combination of the position he'd now found himself in and the hard fall he'd taken earlier. It didn't help he was being held completely immobile.

"You still breathing!"

Exasperation rolled through John at the old codger's shouted question. It was bad enough the geezer had taken it upon himself to act as the harbinger to Daryl, the mysterious man that John's rescue apparently depended on, but he did so by randomly shouting out questions. John had yet to answer a one, but it hadn't deterred the bearded man from asking.

The old man's insistence that Daryl was on his way did nothing to ease his anxiety. The longer he remained a captive of the beam, the more his worry for his boys increased. He had little doubt by now, the stubborn jackass that was his youngest son had most likely given up on him completely. When it came to his father, Sam already had major trust issues. John was well aware this newest failure wasn't going to help.

The eldest Winchester could only hope Sam followed protocol and left him some indication of where the teen's research had led him. Otherwise, he was going to have to start from scratch. He couldn't afford to waste precious time trying to track down leads, time that could otherwise be spent ensuring the safety of his boys.

"Daryl's here,"

John's reverie was interrupted by the old man's crowing. The excitement in the coot's voice did little to soothe John's anxiety. The floor shaking, dust inducing footsteps that were crossing the flooring above him didn't help either.

All in all, the six-foot one-inch hunter found himself suddenly wishing he hadn't lost his shotgun in the fall. The weapon had landed only feet away, but, pinned as he was it might as well have been a hundred.

Following the sound of the footsteps with his gaze, John listened as Daryl's heavy tread reached the stairs. Perhaps daunted by their dilapidated state the footsteps paused for a moment at the top step.

Even with Daryl at a standstill the much abused floor of the run-down school house groaned in protest. If ever the floor was going to give way, now'd be the time.

John waited for at least three minutes, ready to scream in frustration, before there was the dull thud of something massive stepping down onto the first stair.

A soft light accompanied the sound allowing John to see the stairs more clearly. As much as the hunter needed to get free he understood all too well the dangers this stranger was taking for him. Unable to allow the man to proceed without some kind of warning, he called out, "I don't think the steps are gonna hold you."

His only response was a ruff grunt of acknowledgement.

"They'll hold," The old man called down indignantly. "I built 'em myself back in forty-four, solid as a rock."

John held his tongue at the geezer's prickly reply rather than point out how absurd that statement was. Fifty years of neglect and exposure to the elements wasn't something that quality craftsmanship could counter. Instead, he focused on the massive black boots that had just stepped into his line of vision.

The man descended slowly giving John an opportunity to size him up.

First, came the impossibly huge boots. A third longer than the size fourteens his own son wore, it seemed impossible that shoes could even be found that large. His thick tree-trunk like legs came into view next. Legs that were encased in what looked like a pair of homemade canvas pants.

As the man continued to make his way down the protesting stairs, John could see his bright red flannel shirt. The hunter's eyes widened in shock as Daryl's torso came into view. Wide as any NFL linebacker and yet as long as any NBA star, Daryl's form could only be described as solid. Solid as a rock, hell, amended John, solid as the entire mountain.

Head hunched slightly forward, the man stepped down onto the dirt floor, his weight and tread kicking up a cloud of dust that filled the air.

If pressed, John would have guessed the Kentuckian's height to come in just under seven feet. Though not as tall as many players in today's NBA, he was, however, at least twice the width of any ballplayer.

The soft glow of the flashlight that dangled from the man's meaty paws threw his face into relief. With his wide forehead and deep-set eyes, Daryl would never be considered handsome. Add in his lumpy nose and thin lips, there was little to recommend the fellow.

"You doing okay?" the big man answered obviously choosing to ignore John's staring.

Embarrassed by his own lack of tact, the dark-haired hunter blinked away his shock and replied steadily, "I'm fine. I'm thinking I got off easy."

The monster of a man, nodded solemnly and replied, "I'm thinking your right."

With a gesture toward his trapped legs, John asked, "Do you think you can ease some of the weight off? I'll slide my legs out."

"No worries, I can lift it."

Given his Herman Munster visage, John was surprised by the big man's smooth voice. There was nothing back woodsy about it, and it held only a trace of a southern twang.

"I appreciate it," John replied as he looked expectantly at the giant.

The man made no move toward the beam, instead he stared down at John with a slight frown marring the wide expanse of his forehead. Knowing that he was being sized-up, the hunter found himself hoping he met Daryl's expectations. He had no interest in fighting his way out of town, especially against the man starring at him right now.

"I understand you found those boys? That right?"

Understanding the fine line he was treading John replied honestly. "Yup, I stumbled across them here."

"That's what they said. They also said you killed the man who hurt them. That right?"

John's gaze unwillingly darted toward his fallen shotgun as he again offered the truth. "That's right. I was tracking the bastard, my search led me here. I did what needed to be done."

As if he'd weighed in on the hunter's honesty and found it true, Daryl nodded. "We're in your debt. We'd been unable to find the...," here the man hesitated, "person that's been taking our children."

With a solemn nod, John replied, "It's what I do."

"Well, then lets get you free so you can continue on." The huge man put action to words. He set his light on the floor and moved toward the huge, thick floor joist. He placed his massive hands on either side of the wooden support and asked, "You ready?"

John swallowed back his uncertainty and nodded firmly. "Ready as I'll ever be."

Bending his knees, Daryl adjusted his hold and then stood. Without so much as a grunt of effort, he lifted the floor support.

His legs, long since numb from lack of circulation wouldn't respond to his commands, so instead, John placed his hands flat on the ground and worked to slid his entire body out from under the wood. Once clear, he called out, "Let 'er go, I'm out."

Rather than drop the piece, Daryl carefully set it on the floor. For a moment both he and John paused, listening for any signs that the pile of debris was going to collapse.

As he sat, the blood now pounding through his lower extremities, John found his breath and offered, "Thanks."

888

Julie stared at the shaggy head bent over a faded map and blew out a breath. She had to admit though there was little physical resemblance between the two Winchester brothers both had the same dark edge.

Even Sam, as young as he was, exuded a confidence that was very nearly scary. In fact, if it wasn't for the flash of fear that flared in his green gaze every time his brother was mentioned, Julie would have found it impossible to trust him. Those few moments, when his guard was at its lowest made it clear that he understood just what was at stake.

"You're sure the cave is here?" The young man asked without lifting his head.

Julie glanced down at the map spread over the floor and confirmed, "Positive."

"'kay, I gotta gather some supplies, then we'll be on our way."

With a swallow that sounded loud in the tiny room, Julie argued, "Go, no, we can't go anywhere. Dean said to stay here. He said there'd be help."

Sam turned toward her, giving her his full focus. "You did the right thing. You got him help just like he told you to."

"But..." Julie gestured toward Sam, certain that a sixteen-year-old freshman hadn't been what Dean had in mind. "You're....you're a baby. What can you do against this freak?"

Sam's features shifted slightly, all traces of his earlier compassion wiped away, as he snarled, "I can make him regret he ever touched my brother."

His response had Julie pulling back slightly. She suddenly wondered if she hadn't somehow managed to stumble across the more lethal Winchester.

Then as quick as his anger had overtaken him, Sam seemed back in control. "We can do this, Julie, we can help them both, you, just gotta trust me."

Unsure that she really had any choice, she nodded and gestured with her good hand. "After you."

Sam's rapid-fire smile, had Julie's heart doing flips as the kid assured her, "No, I insist, after you."

With grim determination, the young blond squared her shoulders, grabbed up the tire iron, she'd somehow managed to retain, and headed out into night.

888

"Don't turn around!"

Dean rolled his eyes at the woman's modesty. "I can't tell you how to pick the lock if I can't see you."

"I doubt you need to look at me to tell me what to do," Christine replied gruffly.

Actually, she had a point.

Still, when you were strapped half-naked to a table, waiting for the lower half of your legs to be amputated by some frigged up sociopath, what else was there to do but stare at the bare-breasted woman who may or may not save your life.

"Fine," he agreed with a sigh. "I won't look."

"Good," Christine agreed. "What do I do?"

"Okay you've got the underwire?"

"Yeah," the girl replied.

"What you need to do is put a ninety degree bend in the very tip of the wire. It'll be easier if you use your teeth."

As he listened to the brunette struggle with the wire, he worked on easing the tension that gripped his body. Ever since he'd awoken on Smith's bizarre 'bed o' torture' he'd been one big muscle knot. He needed to get his body under control if he hoped to get them out of here. Despite being at Christine's mercy for the moment, it was his skill that would bring on Smith's downfall.

Drawing in a deep breath, he started with his bare feet. Flexing and relaxing each muscle, he worked his way up his body categorizing all his aches and pains. "How we doing?"

"I think I got it"

"Well, cover up 'cause I gotta see to be sure. Otherwise there's no point going on."

"I can't fasten my bra, my arms ache."

The self-pity in Christine's words reminded Dean of just how much damage had been done to the pretty brunette. Unfortunately there was nothing he could do to help her until he'd gained his freedom. Unable to do much than take the edge of her agony, Dean put on his best grin and rolled sideways.

Too weak to sit up, the woman lay on the floor, her arms slipped into the now ragged bra, a slim piece of white metal gripped tightly in her hand. At his roguish smile, Christine's lips lifted in slight smirk.

He wasn't sure if it was in answer to his smile or just the absurd situation, but he was glad to see the much abused young woman hadn't given up on him yet.

"You can't help yourself, can you?"

Dean's grin widened as he dropped her a wink. "Nope." Focusing on the task at hand, He instructed her, "Okay, you've got a good bend going. What you want to do is insert the pick in the lock with the curve pointing down then work it downward."

"That's it?" Christine asked doubt clear in her voice.

"Yup, basically. You have no clue what you're doing, so you'll just have to keep working till you get it."

The woman's large brown eyes widened with fear. "What if Smith comes back?"

Christine had spent hours in Smith's company, Dean knew the woman, more than anyone, understood just what would happen should the killer come back. What she was looking for wasn't the truth, but hope.

Hope, he could do.

"Just keep trying, even if Smith comes in. Just keep working that lock. I'll do the rest."

"I can do that," the woman stated firmly before following his instructions.

The young hunter watched with interest as the undone bra began to gape with her every movement. When she at last caught his stare, he shot her a rascal's grin and pleaded innocently, "I'm only watching to offer you the benefit of my experience?"

What his earlier words did to give her hope, his last statement put a bit of a blush on her cheeks and a spark in her gaze. "I think I can manage, eyes front."

Dean rolled flat on his back with a sigh. "Man, talk about self-absorbed, you act as if I'm trying to oogle your goods."

"Oogle my goods," Christine snorted.

"Yeah, your goods," Dean stared up at the ceiling and continued, "You know, your assets, the girls, the puppies, your ta-tas, hooters..."

"I got it."

"You sure, cause I got more...knoc-"

"No, I mean I got it!"

The hunter swung his gaze toward her in surprise. She lay on her side, staring at her now free wrist in surprise. Without sparing her nearly bare body a thought, Dean snapped, "Get the other one done. Now, Chris, move it!"

With a jump, she seemed to realize she was wasting time. "Right!"

Forcing himself to relax, Dean eased back down onto the bed and focused his gaze on the dirty ceiling once more. "Where was I, oh yeah, knockers, jugs..."

888

A bump on his shoulder brought John back to reality. Exhausted by the last twenty-four hours, not to mention his time spent trapped, the weary hunter gazed up at the giant nudging him with a familiar-looking glass bottle filled with amber liquid.

John smiled wearily and accepted the bottle from Daryl. "Thanks," he croaked more than spoke. As he tipped back the booze and took a quick hit, he savored the heat making its way down his chest before flaring in his gut.

"Don't be giving him that."

A familiar voice growled, just before the bottle was yanked from his hand. Surprised, the dark-haired man watched as the old man from his rescue began chugging down the whiskey.

"Now, Ketch, we owe him a debt of gratitude," Daryl chided as he carefully lowered himself into a large wood-framed chair.

After his surprisingly simple rescue, Daryl had led him here, a tiny cabin on the outskirts of town. If John had to guess he would say the snug little building housed both the giant and Ketch.

Somewhat revived by the warmth that even now lingered in his system, the hunter pushed himself up and out of the swayback chair he was in. With a groan, he wiped a hand across his gritty eyes and worked to steady himself. "It's fine. I have to head out anyway."

"Got another job?"

Daryl's deceptively simple question had the hunter doing a double take. All of a sudden, the big man's easy acceptance of John's presence in the school seemed suspect. "A job?"

"Well, you're a hunter ain'tcha?"

Ketch's blunt question had John grabbing the bottle out of the old man's tight grasp. With a hefty belt boosting his courage, he replied, "What do you know about hunting, old man?"

"We know a bit," was Daryl's easy reply. Despite the calm in his tone, the big man was still the dominant factor in the room.

"We knew them kids weren't no victim of a loony, like the sheriff done said."

Grief settled itself on Daryl's features as he admitted, "We knew it was something wrong, but it wasn't enough. We didn't know how to find it or destroy it."

Sympathy softened the hard lines on John's face. He knew all about the guilt that dogged you when you were unable to save them all. "Nothing more you could have done."

"Maybe," Ketch conceded as he held his hand out for the now severely depleted bottle of Jack. "My momma taught me some simple tricks, but I ain't never come across anything that would steal young'uns."

Surprised, John asked, "You're mother?"

Daryl leaned back in the seat that had obviously been made especially for him, crossed one huge booted foot over the other and answered, "We're a tight community, don't like outsiders much and we have long memories. You're kind have hunted here before. We pay attention and remember."

Truly curious now, John leaned forward. "What do you remember?"

A slight twinkle appeared in the big man's beady black eyes. "Salt, iron, and silver for protection, blessed water and Latin for purification."

"We can add electrocution to the list now," Ketch guffawed.

"You don't play around, you need at least 10,000 volts," John corrected.

Daryl tapped his temple and nodded, "Long memories, we'll remember."

"I can leave you my phone number, you need help again, I'll come," John offered.

At his words, Ketch began to cackle, his face turning cherry red from the exertion.

"I say something funny?"

With a wave of his hand toward Ketch, Daryl explained, "We don't ask for help. We do for our own."

"But-"

"We do for our own," the mountain man interrupted, his earlier humor all dried up.

Having done all he could, John stood more than ready to take his leave. Too much precious time had already been taken from him, he needed to gain back some ground.

"You could stay the night," Daryl offered as he stood also.

John tilted his head back and met the man's solemn gaze. "I've got my own to tend too; my boy was on his way here and went missing."

"Your own boy was missing, yet you stayed to help us?" Daryl asked, his head tilted slightly to the side in surprise.

Uncomfortable with what he saw as censure, John defended himself. "Kids were dying. Dean's strong. He can look out for himself till I can get to him."

Daryl placed one massive paw on the hunters shoulder. "We owe you more than I thought."

"Where was he coming from?" Ketch asked as he drew closer to the two men.

"From the north, Charleston, West Virginia."

"Lovely," Ketch spat.

Unsure of what had the grizzled, old, man upset, John looked toward Daryl.

"Your boy's not the first to disappear near the town of Lovely."

"People been disappearing on that route since before the town even existed," Ketch insisted.

"You'd know old-timer," Daryl teased. Then with sorry eyes he explained, "No clue what's out there, but the locals all learned long ago to stay away. The tourists on the other hand, well let's just say there's some dangerous mountain roads out that way, they take the blame."

Having been handed the lead he'd needed, John held out one hand to Daryl and promised, "We're even now."

As the two men shook hands, Daryl smiled grimly and said, "I'm thinking we won't have to worry about Lovely any more."

John's feral grin was answer enough as he took leave of the two men.

**TBC**


	10. Chapter 10

Author's Chapter Notes:

Whew...sorry for the delay, but at least its done. Please bear with me as it is unbeta'd. Enjoy - Kel

Smith stood in the shadows of the giant pines and watched as the young couple made its way through the dense forest. He had to hand it to Julie, in all his planning he had never once counted on the young woman's luck. First, finding his bolthole a miracle akin to finding a needle in a haystack, and then to practically trip over the shaggy-haired youth she was now leading about by the nose.

Well, luck for Smith at least, given the fact that Julie was leading the lanky young fellow back to his place.

He idly wondered if he should keep the blonde as bait for every callow youth, with a penchant for playing Lancelot, passing through the area. He could end up with a never-ending smorgasbord of prey.

As the couple passed by, he melded deeper into the shadows. To his delight, he noticed his newest arrival was tall, probably close to three inches taller than the hunter who now occupied Smith's special bed. The balance pleased him. He had Julie's height to counter Christine's diminutive status and now the tall supple youth, and the shorter lean hunter, it was like Christmas come early.

A slight grimace marred Smith's aged features as he considered the hunter he'd left trussed up. It had been years, over a hundred to be exact, since he'd last encountered such a challenge. Despite the stranger's youth, he was obviously more experienced than the killer had counted on. It hadn't helped that the man had been ready to throw himself upon the proverbial sword to ensure Julie's safety. It's never easy to defeat a man who fights not to defend himself, but to protect others.

In the end, Smith had prevailed, but that wasn't to say he hadn't been given a run for his money.

Now as he watched Julie and her rescuer slink through the forest, he couldn't help but enjoy the twist of fate that had brought him the tall youth. This newest arrival would allow him to draw-out the pleasure of making the hunter beg for a mercy that would not come. Blood and gore had its place but Smith was a true connoisseur. He took his pleasure in the little things, like slowly ripping the defiant hunter into itty-bitty pieces as he begged and screamed for mercy. It would be pure ecstasy.

Nearly lost to his daydream, it took a moment for him to realize that something had changed. Coming to a standstill, he tested the air around him trying to get a handle on just what had caught his attention.

Then it hit him, the sense of overwhelming fear and despair that he'd left behind him at the house had somehow changed. Christine's fear, a scent that he would recognize anywhere, was no longer as strong. Now, there was an underlying feeling of hope emanating from the young woman.

With one last lingering gaze toward the couple that were trudging their way toward his home, Smith took to his heels. He had come too far to allow anything to disrupt his plans. If he was right, and he always was, the hunter had done something to give the young brunette hope.

It was a hope that Smith intended to crush. If need be he would sacrifice the green-eyed man, putting an end to any last dreams of escape Christine might harbor.

888

"He's going to come back," Dean hissed as he struggled against the bonds that held him. "Get it done."

While Christine's first cuff had come off fairly easy, the second one had proven to be much harder for the young woman. Dean had done what he could to talk her through it but lock picking really wasn't something you could explain. "Come on," he breathed, his every sense strained as he listened for some indication that Smith had returned.

"I can't do it, I can't," Christine moaned as she began jerking at the bond that still held her right wrist.

"Chris, stop," Dean snapped in his best big brother voice.

His tone caught the panicked girl's attention. "I can't do this," she pleaded as her large tear-filled eyes darted toward the door.

"You can," Dean urged. "You need to. If you don't, we're dead."

The young woman held his gaze for one long moment before she at last nodded and returned her attention to the cuff. "I can do this."

Satisfied there was little else he could do, Dean concentrated on the silence that filled the house. Call it a hunter's instinct or simply a sense of self-preservation, but the ever-increasing feeling of danger had become impossible to ignore. Smith was on his way back.

A slight snick caught Dean's attention, only to be followed by Christine's incredulous cry, "I did it!"

Smiling as much as his bruised countenance would allow, Dean praised the woman, "I knew you could. Now, see if you can find your clothes."

Staggering to her feet, the brunette shook her head and insisted, "No, you next."

Already sure their time was up, Dean ordered, "No, first pants, and shoes, and if you can manage it a shirt."

"I can get you free," Christine pleaded as she limped toward him.

The hunter shook his head and nodded toward his own pile of clothes. They were no longer running out of time, they were out. There would be no last minute rescue for him. The only thing left was to get the girl gone. "Please," he begged, knowing she wouldn't be able to refuse.

With a jerk of her head, Christine bypassed the bed. Once she reached the corner where his belongings lay, she rifled through the clothing. "He ruined everything but my sneakers."

"Don't worry about it, use my belt to cinch up the pants and just throw on the jacket," he urged.

As she set to work, he focused his attention on the door that led to the hallway. He wasn't certain, but he'd thought he heard what could be the slam of the front door. His focus was then drawn by a tug on his foot. He shifted his gaze from the door toward the foot of the bed, where Christine stood, his leg iron in hand.

She looked like a little girl playing dress up with Daddy's clothes. Instead of taking his leather jacket, she'd chosen his dark grey flannel, it was buttoned lopsidedly, the tails hanging over the bulge that his belt created. The cuffs of the pants had been rolled and she wore a pair of hot pink tennis shoes on her feet.

Before he could order her away, he felt a sudden release of pressure on his right ankle. As a surge of hope moved through him, he heard the distinctive sounds of footsteps pounding across the downstairs floor. "In the bag, grab the flashlight."

When Christine ignored the order, he shook the leg she now worked on and growled, "Christine, now!"

A second later, he felt the second cuff give way. This time there was no sense of hope as he heard boots hit the bottom step. Tipping his head backward he kept his gaze on the door and counted the pounding footsteps.

"I can-"

"Go!," he growled, "Use the flashlight, break the glass out of the window and go. Once you're at the edge of the roof, drop, you'll land on the steps, they should hold you. Then I want you to run, fast as you can. Go to ground and don't come out no matter what. Do you understand?"

"But-"

"Move!"

Christine flinched at his words, as she glanced toward the door. "It's not right," she choked out, at last moving toward his bag.

"Maybe not, but I'm okay with it as long as you make it out. What I won't be okay with is Smith killing us both."

With the long cylindrical flashlight in hand, Christine broke out the glass in the window. The sound of it shattering seemed to speed up the footsteps. She was actually hesitating in the window frame, one foot poised on the roof when she drew back and darted toward his bag once more.

When she turned back toward Dean, his shotgun gripped in both her hands, he couldn't help but grin with pride. Holding out his hand awkwardly, he accepted the weapon and shouted, "Go!"

Just then the door to the room slammed open with Smith poised in the opening. Dean didn't give the killer a chance to get his bearings, instead, lying on his back, he aimed backward and fired. Given the close quarters, the shot knocked the silver-haired man off his feet and into the hallway.

The hunter pulled his gaze from the murderer just long enough to check that Christine was making good her escape. The brunette was crouched just outside the window, a touch of hesitation in her features. Understanding what she needed to hear, Dean shot her a grin and lied, "I'll be right behind you."

888

"He's gone," Sam whispered as he picked up their pace. He'd first noticed the sensation of being watched once they'd left the protection of the cabin, but he hadn't wanted to say anything that would make Julie balk from leading him to his brother.

Then the sensation had abruptly disappeared, leaving Sam, if possible, even more nervous than before. If the creature wasn't stalking them, then that left his brother in Smith's sights.

"He's gone?" she questioned as she came to an abrupt halt.

Sam gave her a push to get her moving and whispered, "Smith was following us, but he's gone now."

Julie's gaze jumped from point to point as she tried to watch every direction. "How do you know?"

With a grim smile, the young hunter shook his head. "I don't, not for sure."

"You seem pretty confident."

Knowing there was no way to explain a childhood in which he'd learned to trust his instincts above all else, Sam shrugged and gave her another gentle nudge. "Just keep moving."

"Sam, what's gonna happen when we get to the house?"

As the heat of a blush coursed up his neck and into his cheeks, Sam couldn't help but give thanks for the darkness that pressed in on all sides. He wasn't yet ready to admit to the young woman beside him that he had no idea what came next.

Up to this point, his only thought had been to find his brother. Now that he was only moments away from his goal, he found himself at a loss as to what he should do next. Feeling much younger than his sixteen years, he did the only thing he could. He channeled his big brother. "We'll get Dean and Christine free."

Satisfied he'd given the words a properly menacing growl, he again focused his attention on the forest surrounding them.

"But how?"

With a sudden sense of pity for the endless questions he'd thrown at his older brother over the years, Sam groaned and replied, "Honestly, I don't know yet, but, I'll figure something out."

"You'd better figure something out quick, cause we're nearly there," Julie replied as she slowed even more.

As they stepped out of the heavily forested area into a relatively clear patch of land, Sam had a moment to take in the small, neat house that faced him. Looking more like a grandma's house, then the abode of a serial killer, he couldn't help the shiver that ran through him.

"It didn't look like that before," Julie whispered, her arm cradled against her chest.

Sam divided his attention between the neatly kept home and the older woman. "How'd it look?"

Even in the dim glow from the porch light, Sam could see the confusion in Julie's gaze.

"I'm not sure, I mean this is how it looked the first time, but not the last time."

The young hunter glanced toward the house again, taking in Julie's confusing statement. "You mean the first time with Christine, the house looked fine."

Julie's nod was her only response. With a glimmer of understanding, Sam went on, "Then when you came back with Dean, it looked..."

"Bad." Julie's inflection of the word made it clear she meant bad as in a nightmare from hell.

"Okay, so, bad. When you came the first time, it was after midnight?"

Obviously surprised by Sam's question, the girl nodded. "Yeah, it was."

Sam glanced back at the house, and concluded that whatever powers this thing had it must include a type of glamour. Most likely the creature was only able to work the illusion after midnight. Cataloguing that information for future use, Sam asked, "You ready?"

Now that she was actually facing the house, Julie's earlier bravery seemed to slip away. "I don't know if I can."

"Stay here then, or better yet head back to the cabin," the teen replied as he continued to study the house. It wasn't until the words were out that he realized it would probably be for the best. For as much as he did not want to enter the house alone, sending Julie back to the cabin might be the difference between them making it out alive or dying in the backwoods of Kentucky. "Listen, Julie, my father's coming. I don't know when, but I know he'll be here."

"You're father?" the young girl asked. "What, do you all wear tracking devices or something? How's he gonna find you all the way out here?"

"He's a hunter," Sam replied simply.

His understated reply must have rung true for the girl because she asked, "You really think he's coming?"

The loaded question had Sam considering his own earlier doubts. While he had never understood his father's priorities, he also knew, without a doubt that John would come for them. The teen only hoped they were still alive when he arrived. "He'll be here. He's following the same trail I did."

Now that she'd been given a task she felt she could do, Julie's hesitation seemed to slip away. "How will I know him?" she asked firmly.

With a snort, Sam assured the woman, "Trust me, you'll know who he is."

Julie glanced back one last time toward the house that sat bathed in the glow of a full moon and nodded. "I'll be back with help, Sam."

Needing the blonde to go, Sam reassured her, "It's gonna be okay, I'm gonna get them free."

As the young woman slipped away into the darkness, Sam drew a deep breath and focused on the house. "Hold on, Dean" he whispered as he moved out of the shadows.

888

Full of self-loathing, Christine crawled toward the roof-edge. She could just barely make out the shape of Dean Winchester, lying prone in the bed, the shotgun held awkwardly above him. When he'd assured her he would follow her out, she had assumed he would use the gun on his remaining cuffs.

She could now see that the idea held no merit. There was no way the young man would be able to shoot a cuff off without doing damage to his own hands. That meant the green-eyed man had no intention of following her out.

Even as she reached the moss-encrusted edge of the shingled roof, she knew she couldn't abandon him. Nothing that she'd seen so far indicated that her life should be worth more than his. In fact, given his selflessness, he probably deserved to live more than she did.

Decision made, she straightened slightly. Unfortunately, as her weight shifted, her foot slipped out from beneath her, causing her to hit the roof and slide right off.

With only seconds to brace for impact, she cursed herself for her clumsiness. Given her luck so far, she'd probably end up breaking a leg, leaving her stranded right on Smith's doorway.

Instead of hitting the ground as expected, she landed hard in a tangle of limbs and arms. As every ache and bruise began to clamor for attention it registered in her stunned mind that she'd landed on something warm and solid.

The sound of another shot coming from the room she'd just abandoned acted like a bucket of ice water, jolting her from her stupor.

"You okay?" Asked a slightly panicked male voice.

Unable to figure out what had happened, Christine opened her eyes and gazed up at the dark visage of a man obviously not Smith.

"You're Christine?"

With a nod, she struggled to sit up.

"It's okay, I'm Sam, Dean's brother."

At the mention of the green-eyed man, Christine relaxed slightly. "He's...Smith..."

With a fierce frown, the young man nodded and jerked his head toward the house. "I heard shots fired."

A sudden image of Dean's rogue smile had Christine grabbing fistfuls of the young man's shirt. "You have to help him."

The teen carefully wrapped his wrists around her arms and pulled, dislodging Christine's grip. "You need to go. I'll get Dean out."

Christine glanced from the baby-faced youth to the house where a serial killer was probably even now torturing Dean. "I'll go with you."

Dean's brother shook his head and drew himself up to his full height. "You need to go. I can deal with Smith."

She had to admit from her point of view the kid was a veritable giant, but that didn't change the fact that he looked all of fifteen. "I can help."

The sound of a thump drifted down to them from the open window, causing Sam to pull Christine into the shadows. "This isn't up for debate. Now go." With these words, the kid turned and headed toward the front door. He was on the stoop when he knelt down beside what looked like an old duffle bag.

As she watched, he removed a sawed-off shotgun from within the depths of a battered duffle bag and gave it a thorough once over. Once he'd apparently ascertained that all was well, he entered the house, weapon held at the ready. Given the competent way he handled the fire-arm, Christine had to admit maybe the kid wasn't full of show.

Afraid to follow, but unable to leave, she slumped in the shadows, her gaze centered on the window above.

888

Unable to tear his gaze from the doorway in front of him, Dean heard more than saw Christine's tumble from the roof. Hoping like hell the poor girl wasn't lying on the hard packed ground with a broken neck, he concentrated on keeping Smith within his sights.

As long as there was a chance she'd survived the short fall, the hunter knew she'd need time to get clear of the house.

Obviously, the shotgun, filled with consecrated iron, had hurt the bastard that was only now clawing his way to his feet. Dean only wished that Christine had had the forethought to leave him with more ammo before she'd finally followed his orders.

Needing a distraction, he sized up his situation. Christine had managed to leave him stranded with only one more shot, his hands still handcuffed to the bed, and the make-shift lock pick discarded somewhere under the bed. Near as he could figure that left him with only his natural charm.

Ready to do his best, Dean taunted, "Hey, dickhead, you want more? Come and get it."

Smith shook his head like a dog and then met Dean's gaze. The young hunter had to admit, the older man no longer looked quite so dapper. His shotgun blast had hit the killer high in the chest, peppering the right side of the freak's face with buckshot.

On its own, the damage would have been considered serious, though not life threatening. However, when combined with whatever kind of freaky mojo Smith had going on, and the fact that the rounds had been blessed and you were talking serious damage. Each bit of shot had ripped into the skin, leaving an oozing sore behind, some of which were still smoking ominously.

"Dude, you're smoking," Dean called out gesturing as much as he could with one hand.

"Look what you did," Smith hissed, gesturing to his destroyed face.

Dean was happy to find he didn't even have to manufacture a smartass smirk thanks to the creature's obvious pain. "Yeah, well it's about time you got your ass-whupped. Maybe it'll teach you not to play with your food."

At his words, Smith seemed to swell. Drawing on his imposing height, he charged the hunter, not seeming to care about the weapon that Dean still awkwardly clutched. More than happy to take another bite out of the bastard, the hunter pulled the trigger, this time the spray catching Smith low.

Again, psycho hit the ground hard.

Now out of ammo, Dean dropped the shotgun onto the bed beside him and began to slide off the edge of the bed. Using his toes to feel for the underwire, he kept his gaze on the spot where Smith had gone down.

888

Sam Winchester stormed into the house like an avenging angel. Rage pulsed through him as he headed straight for the staircase. The shots fired had come from upstairs, meaning just this once he was going to ignore one of his father's most important rules. He skipped the recon.

Taking the steps two at a time, he burst into a short upstairs hallway. There were two closed doors and one standing wide open. In that third doorway lying flat on its back, sightless eyes staring at the ceiling was a creature that could only be Smith.

Beyond the body, Sam could clearly make out his brother, handcuffed to a steel bed frame.

Beaten beyond belief, the older hunter nonetheless managed to shoot him a grin. "'bout time you caught up to me little brother."

Relief flooded Sam, making his knees buckle with weakness as he edged around the now smoking corpse. "Would have been here sooner, but someone deviated from the itinerary," Sam snarked.

"Trust me, kiddo, wont happen again."

Despite the levity of his brother's tone, Sam had little doubt that Dean meant it. "Lock pick?" He questioned. It was one of the few things he hadn't brought. He'd assumed this mission would be more of a 'kick the door in' undertaking rather than one that needed the finesse of lock picking.

"Bag," Dean grunted with a nod toward the corner.

The younger hunter followed his gaze toward the gear with a slight smirk. Ruffling through the belongings, he realized he should have noticed Christine's clothes looked familiar. "Nice pants, Dude."

"Ha Ha, you planning on yapping or getting me out of here?"

Having found the picks at last, Sam turned back toward his brother. "Told you someday you'd get caught with your pants around your ankles."

"I swear, Sammy, after the night I've had..." Dean let the threat linger, his hard gaze boring into Sam.

Not intending to let it drop, but also knowing that revenge would be all the sweeter for the wait, Sam let it go. "Consecrated rounds do that?"

"Yup, apparently it's his kryptonite."

Ignoring the superman reference, Sam quickly got to work on the cuffs that encircled his brother's wrist. The sight of his siblings abraded flesh, told the teen all he needed to know about just how serious things had gotten.

"I'm fine, Sam. Nothing a hot shower won't fix."

With clenched teeth, he ignored Dean's effort to reassure him. If only he'd acted on his assumptions earlier, rather than wasting time waiting for his father, Dean wouldn't have had to suffer.

As if he could read the younger man's thoughts, and really sometimes Sam was certain he could, Dean asked, "Where's the old man?"

With a shake of his head, Sam held back. He had no desire to tell Dean that their father had put a stranger's child before his own.

"The rawhead had to be destroyed, Sammy."

Dean's words had the effect of flipping a switch on Sam's control. "No, Dean, it didn't. The cold-hearted bastard is off saving other people's kids while you were being tortured. That's inexcusable."

"Sam-"

"No! Don't Sammy me. He-"

"Sam!" This time Dean's full-throated roar finally caught his attention.

Dropping the pick, the sixteen-year-old turned to find Smith only inches from his face. Still slightly smoking, the creature reached out and wrapped his hands around his throat, effectively cutting off his air.

The last thing Sam saw, as he faded out of consciousness, was his brother frantically trying to kick out at the killer that was intent on choking the life out of him.

TBC

Chapter End Notes:

Alright everyone, just a quick note of thanks for your wonderful support. I'm thinking we've got maybe three to four left, but depending on how quickly Papa Winchester moves it maybe a bit less. See you all next week - Kel ;)


	11. Chapter 11

888

"Sammy!"

Ignoring the cry of the hunter still trapped to the bed, Smith focused on the job at hand. As he squeezed, the youth's eyes rolled up in his head, the shotgun dropping from his now slack grip. Loving the delicate feel of the boy's throat, the killer tightened his hold.

Pleasure began to pound through Smith, overcoming the pain the hunter's shotgun had wrought. As an added bonus, Smith reveled in the panic he could hear in the older hunter's cry.

It was obvious the youth's sudden appearance hadn't been coincidence. In fact, if Smith were to guess... "Brothers," he rasped. Not wanting to kill the long-limbed boy, he eased his grip.

The fact that his originally intended playthings had flown the coop wasn't any reason he couldn't begin anew his current guests. He'd wanted two victims to play with, and two he'd gotten.

Both were prime specimens; young enough to be resilient and each in top physical condition. As an added bonus the emotional connection between the two would far surpass Julie and Christine's friendship.

"Get your hands off him, you son-of-a-bitch," the sandy-haired hunter growled.

The complete and utter fear that reverberated in the young man's cry only added to Smith's enjoyment. As important as the physical end of his work was, it was the emotional anguish he wrung from his victims that truly made his life's work complete.

He'd long ago learned that few people shared a completely pure bond with each other. Couples who'd been happily married for years, siblings that considered themselves close, even the relationship of parent and child usually broke when enough pressure was applied. Victims when faced with the wrack or even worse the loss of a limb would quickly subcomb to his taunting. They would plead and bargain their way to freedom even if it meant dooming their other half.

The few times he had encountered truly selfless victims he'd been able to stretch his fun out for days before at last their bodies gave out. The fact that he only came along such strength of character once out of every hundred or so victims only made it all the sweeter.

Already, he found himself intrigued by the hunter, who seemed less concerned with his own well being than he was for his younger brother. Decision made, he dropped the big kid to the ground and moved toward the figure on the bed.

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Christine groaned softly as she settled onto the hard-packed earth. As she drew the soft folds of Dean's flannel shirt about her, a hint of the young man's aftershave teased her senses. Much like the man himself, the subtle smell helped to chase away some of her fears.

Keeping her gaze centered on the window from which she'd escaped, she strained to hear any sounds that might indicate what was going on. As she sat back, leaning against the gnarled tree trunk of a leafless oak she couldn't help but worry.

Though Sam's bravery had been impressive to watch in action, she couldn't help but feel that sometimes being brave was akin to being stupid. Case in point, the young man had been gone nearly fifteen minutes now and except for an emotionally charged cry from Dean, she'd heard little else.

As her adrenaline high faded, she became more and more aware of all her earlier aches and pains. To top it off, although it was a completely selfish thought and one she wasn't proud of, she couldn't help but wonder what she would do if Dean and Sam were dead. Hurt as she was, stranded in some godforsaken bit of Kentucky, she had no clue where to go from here.

Her only real chance at survival was now chained to a bed and at the killer's mercy.

While she watched shadows flicker inside the window's opening she tried to make some sense of what she was seeing. More than once she'd seen the vague outline of what she knew was Smith moving about the room.

That meant the psycho had somehow managed to get the jump on the teen who'd so willingly gone to his brother's rescue. To think that the gangly youth, with his kind eyes and soft voice, was even now perhaps dead filled her with an unbearable sadness.

Even worse was the idea that the killer would enjoy using the teen's height to play his twisted game. The kid deserved better. Unwillingly Christine's gaze drifted toward the canvas duffle bag that Sam had left lying on the top step. It didn't take a genius to know there would most likely be something she could use to defend herself in the bag.

Another glance toward the second floor showed that the killer had taken up a position at the window. Though he wasn't facing outward, Christine couldn't help the shudder that wracked her frame. Again her glance darted toward the bag with longing.

As much as she was afraid to break cover, the idea of having something more substantial than her indignation to fight with was damn tempting. Plus it only served to reason that once Smith had finished with his latest victims he would begin his search for Christine and Julie.

With a pang for her lost friend, Christine clumsily gained her feet and began to make her way toward the house.

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Relief washed through Dean as he noted the steady rise and fall of his brother's chest. He wasn't sure why the killer had let the kid go, but he had a feeling it was a major case of out of the frying pan and into the fire. It didn't take much to realize there was nothing benevolent in the killer's act.

Sam hadn't been freed, Smith was simply changing tactics. A glance toward the corner of the room, where an axe sat leaning up against the wall, had Dean wondering if in the end his younger sibling wouldn't end up wishing he'd succumbed to Smith's choking.

With little else to look forward to, Dean comforted himself with the fact that from now on at least Smith's intended victims might find themselves slightly more suspicious upon meeting him. No longer could he claim to be even the least little bit human.

Though his skin had finally stopped smoking, the damage the shotgun blasts had done was apparently permanent. With the right side of his face largely untouched, the left side looked all the more horrific in comparison. The shot had shredded the flesh along his cheek and jaw, showing bone, teeth and at times even tongue through the gaping holes.

Topping it all off was his ruined left eye. The eyelid and socket had been caught by the blast as well, unblinking and opaque, the eye bulged slightly making the killer look even more crazed.

As the creep came closer, Dean kicked out with his free leg hoping to catch the bastard with some force. The creature easily danced out of the way, his grotesque grin never slipping from his face.

"You'll be glad to know I'm giving you a reprieve," Smith declared in the same tone of voice one might wish you a happy birthday.

Unsure of what the killer had in mind and completely confident he didn't want to know, Dean growled back, "You touch him and I will kill you."

This time Smith's silver-haired head tipped back as he let out a bellow of laughter. "That's funny, you'll kill me."

With another glance at his still unmoving brother, Dean quickly switched to bargaining. "Listen do what you want with me, but set the kid free."

"You're willing to trade your life for his?"

With his heart now pounding in his chest, Dean leaned forward as much as his aching hands would allow and met Smith's teasing gaze. "Yes, set him free."

"Oh, this really is going to be fun," Smith crowed, his formally handsome face lighting up with joy, "But, I'm going to have to decline. I just couldn't break up such a matched set."

Disappointed but not surprised, Dean set himself to defending both his brother and himself to the best of his ability. "Fine then, you fugly bastard, bring it on."

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Julie heard the rumbling growl of an engine long before the car came into sight. The only question was if it was the car she was hoping for. Sam's plan that she find his father, or well allow his father to find her, was all well and good. However, the youth had failed to mention what she should do if after two hours of waiting she found no one.

Now as the sound of the engine grew louder she was left wondering what she should do. Flag down the car on the hopes that it was John Winchester, and risk dragging someone else into this mess, or hold back and chance missing the boys' father altogether.

Since the constant gnawing fear that she'd sent both brothers to their death was only growing stronger, Julie chose to act.

Figuring that she was two for two so far, she broke cover and made for the road. Acting quickly, before she lost her nerve, she darted into the oncoming path of the vehicle.

With a familiarity that was scary, she heard the squeal of breaks and found herself blinded by a set of headlights. At first rigid with fear, she only allowed herself to relax once the car ground to a halt only a foot away. Forcing her eyes open, she released a pent up breath and waited to see if she'd done the right thing.

"Son of a bitch!"

Blinded by the headlights, she could only just make out the shape of a man getting out of the big vehicle. Long strides carried the dark figure quickly to her side. She couldn't help but shrink back as he loomed over her, his face at last coming into sharp relief in the bright light.

Dark hair, a couple days scruff, and a growling countenance did nothing to reassure her that she'd made the right decision. However, his penetrating stare that made her want to confess every sin she'd ever committed, quickly convinced her that she'd found the right man.

Though Dean's darker edge was softened by his youth and his lighthearted approach, she'd witnessed first hand just how deadly the twenty year old actually was. Even Sam, with his baby-face, had shed all pretense of softness when he talked of the danger his brother was in.

"What the hell were you think-"

"You're John Winchester?" Julie interrupted, already confident of his answer.

The dark haired man's face showed no surprise that Julie recognized him, another sure sign that she'd picked the right car. Instead, he studied her, his gaze drifting from the tape that held her arm immobile to the tire iron still gripped in her right hand.

"Where is he?"

More than ready to let this man, who was probably only a couple years younger than her own father, take over Julie answered readily, "Sam said I should lead you to them."

This time the flash of emotion passed too quickly for her to understand it. "Sam's here?"

Guilt over involving his youngest son in this nightmare infused Julie's face with a hot flush. "He went after Smith two hours ago. He told me you were on your way."

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Ready to curse his youngest to hell and back for ignoring his orders, John reached out grabbed the girl's good arm and began tugging her after him. At least, he told himself as he wordlessly shoved her toward the open driver's side door, the teen had faith John would show at some point. Winchester figured he ought to be thankful for even the smallest of miracles.

As he motioned for the girl to move over, he slipped into the truck and turned the key. "Where the hell are my kids?"

The kid, eyes open wide in fear, turned to him and stammered, "...I...told you...Smith has them."

Drawing on what little patience he had, John prompted her, "And who the hell is Smith?"

As the girl launched into a breathless explanation, filling him in on what he'd missed so far, he found his panic increasing. Just how his boys had managed to stumble into such a mess was a mystery to him.

He sometimes wondered if there wasn't a big old bulls-eye tapped to his boys back. A target that was so large it tempted every last bit of bad luck to take a shot.

If the bad luck was limited to either just Sam or just Dean he could almost understand it. After all, some people were simply more apt to find trouble. However, the fact that both his boys seemed inflicted made him wonder if it was something he'd done.

He wondered if by trying to keep them safe. By making them stronger, faster, more observant and less likely to back away from a challenge, he'd also made them more prone to come up against the evil that seemed to lurk around every corner. He couldn't help but wonder if they would have been safer living life in the world of normal.

Though as he listened to the babbling of the young girl beside him, a woman who was so obviously unaware of the danger that marked the world, he couldn't help but take courage from the fact that at least when they stumbled across trouble his boys were prepared to meet it head-on.

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"Sammy, dude, come wake up. Sam!"

The sound of his brother's voice, overloading on pure panic, was enough to bring Sam awake in a hurry. Every one of his aches and pains, including the fire in his throat took a backseat to Dean's fear. If he'd been a bit more with-it he would have realized that only one thing had ever been able to get just such a reaction from his overprotective sibling.

As he forced open his eyes, he found the reason for his brother's panic.

Sam now occupied the torture device where Dean had lain earlier. His long frame took up nearly the entire narrow bed, leaving a portion of his calves and feet hanging over the edge.

"Dean?" he questioned, his own voice cracking in fear. He would have liked to pretend waking up strapped to a bed and unable to move was nothing to get worked up over, but he found it was more than he could manage.

Short on courage, he quickly scanned the room, finding and focusing on his brother. "You okay, Dean?"

It was easy to see at first glance that there was nothing 'okay' about his brother. If Sam felt as if he'd been put through the ringer, then Dean looked as if he'd not only endured the ringer, but he'd also been hit by a Mac truck.

He was crouched on the floor, a metal cuff around each wrist holding him in place. Still wearing nothing more than a pair of boxers, blood from the raw wounds on his wrists ran down each arm only to drip off the point of his bent elbows. His chest was a mass of bruises, one of which closely resembled a boot print, and his left eye was completely swollen shut. At some point, blood had dripped from both his nose and a nasty looking gash on his temple leaving a garish trail down his face.

With a half-grimace, half-grin, Dean assured him, "I'm fine, Sammy. You?"

With his brother's one good eye doing a silent catalog of his injuries, Sam figured he should do the same. "Throat hurts," he replied honestly that one injury standing out from the rest.

"Yeah, well, the lumberjack did a number on you," Dean growled as he once again jerked against the handcuffs.

Not liking the way the metal was cutting his brother's wrists, Sam forced a smile and said, "Long as he wasn't wearing a bra and high heels to do it."

Catching the Monty Python reference, Dean visibly eased and grinned. "True, nothing scarier than a cross-dressing lumberjack."

Happy that he'd managed to distract his brother just a bit, Sam jerked his head toward the open door. "How long's he been gone?"

"Ever since I woke up," Dean replied with a grimace.

Sam could only imagine just how hard his brother must have protested their change in positions given his broken and bruised body. "Any clue what he wants?" he questioned as he ran through a half-dozen possibilities, none of them good, in his mind.

The twenty year old grimaced, his one good eye flashing toward Sam then back toward the door once more. "No idea, he's not much for monologing."

Despite his brother's quick answer, Sam had a feeling the older hunter knew more than he was letting on. As fear settled deep in his bones, his gaze again darted toward the open doorway.

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Unable to maintain eye contact with his baby brother, Dean denied knowing Smith's plans. After all, the older hunter had only guesses, and a really bad feeling, to go by. Watching the killer secure the shaggy-haired youth to his demented bed, and then reverently pick up the axe that had sat in the corner before leaving the room had left him with images that would be burned in his brain forever.

To give voice to those fears, would cause Sam to panic even more, and would only serve to make the danger more real. For the moment, the threat was about as real as Dean ever wanted it to be.

In some kind of warped Goldilocks fetish, the bastard was going to ensure that both Sam and Dean fit just perfect in his bed o' death. For him that meant being stretched to fit the wrack, an unimaginable torture that would only end once he was ripped from limb to limb. For Sam, whose long coltish legs hung a good three inches past the end of the bed it meant Smith had plans to use the axe he'd so lovingly caressed earlier.

For the first time in two years, the brother's would be the same height. The fact that they'd be missing parts of their bodies to achieve this feat made it a good bit less desirable.

What it all came down to in the end was that Dean needed to be free. Trussed up as he was with both arms shackled to the floor, he was incapable of helping his baby brother.

Twice during the bed swap he'd nearly managed to overpower the silver-haired son-of-a-bitch. For his pains, Smith had beaten him to a pulp, and strapped him down tight. Leaving him with nothing other than his shorts, the old devil had severely hampered any chance of escape.

His only resort had been his left cuff. The metal shackle was a bit loose. He could feel it wiggle when he put his weight against it. It was a long shot at best, but, given his limited options, one he couldn't afford to ignore. So for the last hour, he'd kept up a steady pressure on the handcuff, hoping beyond hope he could pull it free from the floor.

As he felt the younger boy's heavy gaze, he reassured him, "Just hang on, Sammy, Dad'll come." Sammy might not put much faith in their father, but Dean had no doubts. John would be there.

The twenty year old's only job was to make sure his brother survived until then. A job that suddenly became more difficult as Smith appeared in the doorway the now shining axe propped on his shoulder.

Dean had to give the bastard credit he was one cool character. Other then a momentary lapse earlier, in which he'd managed to curse the hunter to hell for all of eternity, Smith had kept his calm. No matter what barbs, Dean had thrown at him, he'd refused to rise to the bait. That was saying something, given the fact that the green-eyed man had spent his life perfecting the art of taunting.

Sounding impossibly young, Sam ignored the old man and asked, "You think he's on our trail?"

"I know he is, Sammy." With his gaze pinned to Smith's tall form, Dean leaned even more weight against the already weakened cuff.

As he watched Smith licked a finger and put it gently to the sharpened blade. With a smile that only touched the right side of his face, he then held up one finger for the brothers to witness. A perfect drop of blood hung suspended from the digit for only a moment before it dropped to the ground.

"Dean..." Sam called out, fear causing his voice to crack.

"It's gonna be okay, little brother, I'm gonna get you out of here," Dean vowed.

Sam was pale faced and shaking, his entire body straining against the bonds that held him. As Smith stepped closer, he began to make a low keening sound that actually hurt Dean to hear.

No longer able to bear his brother's suffering, Dean began actively jerking at the loose cuff. "Sam, look at me," he demanded, needing to offer what comfort he could.

Eyes wide with fright, his chest heaving as he tried to draw air in past his panicked lungs, Sam swung his gaze toward Dean. "Dean," he pleaded.

"Look at me, Sam, not him. Do you understand!" he insisted.

Whether it was in response to the tone of Dean's voice, or simply the fact that Sam didn't want to face Smith, the kid met and kept his gaze.

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Sam stared hard at his big brother, willing all else to fall to the wayside. Only Dean, the one constant in his life, the only thing he'd ever truly had to call his own, mattered in this moment.

"What do you got, kiddo?"

As the familiar words rushed over him, he couldn't help the stream of tears that slipped over his lower lashes and trailed down his cheeks. With a weak grin for his brother's not so subtle diversion, Sam worked to answer the question. It was easier said than done.

Determined to make his brother proud, he pushed back the overpowering image of Smith and his axe, and instead focused on his brother's bright green gaze. "He can work a glamour."

"Working that witch angle, huh. Knew he was a bitch."

Dean's statement was followed by solid 'thunk', the sound of the axe meeting wood. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Smith grinning maniacally as he wrenched the weapon from where he'd driven it into the ground.

"What else do you got, Sammy?"

Focusing once more on Dean, he frowned as he realized blood was now free-flowing down his siblings right wrist. As he caught and held his brother's gaze once more, he raised one lone brow in question. Dean's answering head shake was so subtle, Sam could almost dismiss that he'd seen anything. He could, at least, if he hadn't know his brother as well as he did.

The older hunter needed time. Whether he had an actual plan, or if he was just winging it he was asking Sam to stall.

"He knows he's going to die. Isn't that right, Sammy?" Smith teased as he hefted the weapon to his shoulder.

More than ready to get Dean the time he needed, Sam growled, "Consecrated iron can kill him."

In a flash, Smith dropped his weapon and moved to Sam's side, his pale white hands wrapping around the youth's throat. "I am forever," the killer crowed as he throttled the teen.

Before the pain and lack of oxygen could make his head swim, Sam bucked once dislodging one of the psycho's hands in the process. As he drug in a burning lungful of air, he could have sworn he saw a dark shadow over the killer's shoulder.

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Christine knelt beside the open doorway and carefully peered into the unzipped bag. With a grin, she dove into the treasure trove she'd found and began pulling items out. Some seemed to be basic survival gear. Medical kit, matches, and what looked like lighter fluid. Then there was the not so normal items, a long curving knife that appeared to be made of silver, a few talismans that looked as if they'd been crafted in an Indian gifts shop, and a vial of what appeared to be dirt.

Judging the shotgun shells to be useless without the weapon, Christine went for the knife. As she hefted it in her hand, the weapon's solid weight felt good. Though she had no formal training she was pretty sure that Smith's little torture session had left her with the drive to defend herself.

Now armed and feeling slightly more in control, she turned to leave. A vague notion of trying to get Julie's Ford started playing in her mind. She'd taken only one step when a loud voice rang through the night air.

"Dean..."

Before she'd realized what she'd done the young girl had moved through the open front door and into the long hallway. It was only once she'd reached the kitchen that it occurred to her she was walking back into Smith's freaky embrace for a couple guys she didn't even know.

As memories of the pain and terror she'd already endured threatened to drown her where she stood, a slight trace of Dean's cologne reached her. The smell overpowered the cloying scent of cinnamon and apples that she now knew was just another part of Smith's pageantry.

It was the clean scent that reminded her just why Sam and his brother were in trouble. If it hadn't been for her stupidity, her smug assurance that she could handle anything, then both brothers would have had little more to do this weekend than to pick which girl to say yes to. She'd condemned them both and now she stood poised to flee, ready to leave them in Smith's psychotic hands.

"It's gonna be okay, little brother, I'm gonna get you out of here."

Dean's words drifted down the stairway, causing Julie's eyes to tear and her feet to move.

Decision made, the young girl wasted no time in making her way carefully up the stairs. Once she'd reached the top landing she eased forward spying the open doorway to the room where she'd been held captive.

This time her fear was so great black spots began to dance across her vision and she feared blacking out. Determined to do what she could, she lifted the palm of one hand to her mouth and bit down hard. The pain forcing her mind to clear.

Christine slunk to the doorway her gaze locked on Smith. The killer stood with his back to her, leaning slightly over young Sam. Ignoring the conversation that was taking place she instead concentrated on finding her chance. With both hands holding tight to the solid hilt of the knife, she waited on the balls of her feet.

Just then something one of the boys said must have triggered Smith's ire as he dropped the axe and instead dove for the boy with hands outstretched.

Acting on instinct alone, Julie plunged into the room with the knife upraised. Across the space she went, bracing herself at the last moment as she drove the silver blade directly into Smith's back.

Up to the hilt the knife slid, until only the handle protruded from between the bastard's shoulder blades. With a cry, the old man released Sam and promptly tried to grab for the weapon that now pierced him.

More scared than she'd ever been in her life, Christine tripped backward toward the open door her only thought to avoid the killer. As she watched in horror, she saw the old man stagger away from the bed and toward Dean as he still tried to reach the knife.

Just as he came within touching distance of the young man, Dean's legs swung up to deliver a solid blow to Smith's midsection. Caught with his arms behind him, the killer was unable to stop his momentum as the force of Dean's kick carried him across the room toward the open window.

She watched in disbelief as Smith's knees caught the windowsill and the crazy man tumbled out the wide open window. With a scream, the killer continued his slide, mimicking Christine's earlier fall, and rocketed right off the edge of the roof.

Stunned, and shaking at what she'd witnessed, she could only drop to her knees as her legs would no longer support her.

**TBC**

Chapter End Notes:

Thank you for all your wonderful reviews and this chapter is unbeta'd so any and all mistakes are mine and mine alone. Catch you all soon - Kel ;)


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Dean stared at the young woman who now knelt on the floor, her blank gaze pinned to the open bedroom window through which Smith had just disappeared. It didn't take a genius to figure out she was losing her grip on reality.

That didn't work for the hunter. With Sammy strapped to the rack, and Smith possibly still in the game, he needed Christine functioning.

"Christine," he barked, trying for his best 'John Winchester' drill sergeant voice.

The girl remained slack-jawed and staring, without so much as a flinch for his harsh tone.

"Dean?"

At his brother's anxious call, the hunter closed his eyes in weariness.

No longer was Sammy the bad-assed hunter who'd blazed his way into the room with fire in his eyes. In his place was a sixteen-year-old kid who'd been throttled twice and even now remained strapped down to a torture device.

"It's okay, Sammy," he reassured the youth. "I'm gonna get us free in a minute. Just hold tight, kiddo."

"'k, Dean," Sam rasped.

The harshness of the teen's voice caused him to wince. It was just another in a long line of reminders of the trouble they were in. Sam couldn't take much more.

"Christine," Dean cajoled trying for a more soothing tone. He wasn't surprised when the brunette continued to ignore him. At that moment, with his adrenaline still jacked into overdrive, comforting was a bit hard for him to channel.

Frustrated beyond belief, Dean suggested, "Sam, try talking to her."

More than once his baby brother had succeeded where he had failed. It wasn't surprising given his too long hair, his bony body just begging for a feeding, and the whole baby faced-earnest thing the kid had going. If the kid's success rate with senior citizens was any indication he should have no problem with the freaked-out young woman.

The teen nodded in affirmation before shifting slightly, putting the woman in his line of sight.

"Hey, Christine, it's me, Sam."

The older hunter couldn't help but roll his eyes at the girl's non-response. They really didn't have time to coddle her into action. With a wary glance toward the doorway, Dean began jerking against the loose cuff. If nothing good came of Sam's effort then at least he might be able to get one arm free.

What good it would do the battered twenty-year-old was something Dean refused to think about. Far as he was concerned, it was better to try and fail then to do nothing and die. He was a Winchester through and through and like his dad no one would ever accuse him of taking the easy way out.

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"Hey, Christine, it's me, Sam."

Sam winced as he spoke the words. The pain in his throat had grown to epic proportions. Each spoken word or swallow hurt as if he'd swallowed glass. It was the sound of his brother once again working his cuff that gave him the will to go on.

Like a fox caught in a trap, he had little doubt Dean would be willing to gnaw off his own leg if the need arose. The fact that the need would only arise if Sam was in trouble was something the teenager had known for awhile now. His brother had long ago appointed himself Sam's keeper and it was a position he took with deadly seriousness.

So seriously, in fact, he was willing to risk permanently crippling his left hand on the off chance that he could break free.

Holding back the words he longed to say to this brother, Sam instead focused on the brunette he could just barely make out from the corner of his eye. Quickest way to get Dean to stop hurting himself would be to snap the young woman out of her daze.

Doing his dead-level best to keep his voice soothing, Sam called out to her once more, "Christine, you did good. You stopped him from hurting me."

He could only hope that reminding the woman of what she'd done wouldn't make her regress even more. "Come on, Christine, we need you. Please," he cajoled. "You've been so strong. You came back for us instead of staying safe. We need you to be strong for just a bit longer so we can all get the hell out of here."

Quickly losing heart, Sam shut his eyes as he tried to ignore the rhythmic banging of his brother's own bid for freedom. "You want to go home, don't you?"

A whisper of noise reached the teen's ears, making him tense up in fear. The idea that he might open his eyes to find Smith occupying the doorway was nearly enough to make him want to cry. Instead, he drew in a deep breath and forced his lids open.

Rather than the ravaged old man, he found Christine on her feet and swaying slightly. This time there was no stopping the tears that slipped down his cheeks unchecked.

"I want to go home," the battered brunette said on a sigh as she reached toward Sam's cuff.

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Julie chanced a glance toward the other occupant of the vehicle and sighed. The dark, gruff, man, who'd neatly man-handled her into the warm cab of the intimidating pick-up, hadn't said a word in nearly ten minutes. In fact, she was beginning to wonder if she'd somehow managed to trade the danger Smith presented for a whole new set of troubles.

With another sidelong glance, she pointed out the access road that would lead to Smith's house. "There."

John Winchester's grunt was his only response as he spun the wheel, the vehicle's momentum causing her to slide across the vinyl seats and into the rough looking man. The force of the impact caused a grunt to escape her but he made not a sound.

"Sorry," she mumbled, hating like hell the tremble in her voice as she scooted back on her side.

"My boys, are they hurt?"

At this first sign of fatherly concern, Julie felt a shred of pity for the hardened man. "Sam was fine when I saw him," she answered honestly. She didn't bother to point out the last time she'd seen the teen he'd been in hot pursuit of a killer.

Her words seemed to ease some of the tension in the older man's shoulders making her more hesitant to share what she knew of Dean.

"And Dean?"

Unable to lie, Julie answered as best she could, "I'm not sure. He ran into Smith, told me to run...so I did."

"You did right. Dean's tough."

Though his words were harsh, Julie couldn't help but notice the way his grip tightened on the steering wheel. It was obvious the man was more worried than he let on. Unsure of how to comfort him, she let it go and returned her gaze outward.

They'd finally come to the familiar road that had led her to Smith's house. As they drove in silence, she couldn't help but worry about Christine. With a prayer that her friend would be okay, Julie concentrated on locating the driveway to hell.

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Smith took a deep breath, cringing at the sharp stabbing pain that centered in his back, and gained his feet. With one last glance toward the window he'd just found himself tossed out of, he began to lumber his way toward the barn.

As he moved, he took stock of his wounds. Though he was in no way immortal, he did have healing powers that far outshone any human. Even as he moved, the tiny pieces of buckshot that had littered his injuries were being squeezed to the surface as the tissue mended itself.

It would take some time for the scars to heal themselves completely, but time was something he had plenty of. Until then he would simply use the disfigurement to his advantage. Pity had a way of lowering people's guards, making them more willing to trust you.

As he reached the rundown building, he carefully slid inside and paused to draw a deep breath. Again a stabbing pain, centering in his back, left him gasping from its intensity. Carefully he reached behind him, his hands ghosting over the hilt that jutted from his back. Grimly, he then tightened his grip on the handle and slid the weapon from his flesh.

With a cry of pain he dropped to his knees, the knife still clenched in his fist. He took only a few shallow breaths before he began to feel the itching he associated with healing.

Ready to exact his revenge, the killer gained his feet and lurched toward nearest dirt encrusted window. Content to wait for the trio to leave the house, he kept to the shadows and waited. He hated being forced into the shadows; it had never been his style. However, if the tactic gave him the time and strength to do away with the hunter for once and for all then it would be well worth it.

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"Come on," Dean whispered under his breath as he watched Christine reach for Sam's cuffs. Without thought he straightened, putting more strain on his wrists.

"On the floor, Christine, the pick's on the floor," Sam urged, his voice breaking with fear.

The sound of his brother's weak voice had Dean straining even more. He couldn't bear to sit by and do nothing when the kid seemed so close to breaking. "Easy, Sam," he urged hoping his tone would help to still the tremors he could see wracking the teen's slim torso.

Stalled by Sam's side, Christine made no move to pick up the shining silver pick that lay near her foot. Instead, she seemed once more consumed by fear.

Frustration, pain and fear for his brother had Dean lashing out with his fist once more. To his great surprise, the cuff that held his left hand to the floor came loose leaving him to lunge forward.

Still bound by his right hand, the hunter ignored the throbbing pain in his left and reached forward to touch the young girl before him.

As his hand made contact with her shoulder, she screamed, a sound that threatened to burst his eardrums. "Easy," he cautioned as he maintained his grip. "It's me, Chris, you're gonna be okay."

A shudder ran through the young woman as she turned to face him. "Dean?" she whispered, as a streak of color dusted her high cheekbones.

"Yeah, kiddo, you did good. Now, all you have to do is give me that pick and I'll have us all out of here in a jiffy."

The idea getting out seemed to appeal to the young girl as she dropped to the ground and felt along the floor for the slim piece of metal. Without bothering to stand she held the tiny item up toward Dean.

The twenty-year old wasted no time in accepting the slim tool. "You two ready to go home?" he asked as he quickly freed his right hand. As he stood, his legs nearly refusing to obey him, he pressed his left hand against his chest.

With a gentle touch he drew Christine to her feet and carefully moved her to the side. Stepping up to his brother, he reached out and traced one finger against the bruised flesh of Sam's neck.

"Dean, your wrist," Sam gasped his pale face and shadowed eyes full of concern.

Indicating the beating Sam had taken, he shrugged and offered, "Yeah, well you're not looking so hot yourself, Sammy."

"Guess not," the kid replied as he held his cuff taunt for Dean. As soon as the youth was free, he was up and off the table as one last shudder shook his frame.

Once Sam was free, Dean wasted no time in checking out the roofline. Unsurprised, he could saw no sign of the creature. "Smith must have hit the ground. Let's man-up."

"Man-up?" Christine questioned with a slight smile.

"'Man-up' in Dean-speak means we strap on every weapon we have and see if we can find Smith," Sam translated.

The young woman drew her arms about herself and demanded, "What do you mean see if we can find him? You said we'd get out of here."

"You will," Dean assured her as he began rifling through the contents of the bag he'd brought. "Sam's gonna get you free, while I deal with Smith."

Before he could complete the sentence both Christine and Sam were shaking their heads.

"No way," Sam stated in a voice eerily reminiscent of their father. "I won't go without you."

Not ready to start a debate, Dean ignored the kid's protest as he began to draw forth what weapons he had. "Here you go," he said as he offered Christine a knife that was the near twin of the one she'd stopped Smith with.

Without looking up, he gave his brother his colt, keeping the shotgun for himself. "We ready?"

A snort had him looking up to find his brother's lips twitched up into a smirk. "What?" he demanded.

"Nothing, I'm just really looking forward to Dad's reaction when he sees you."

Just then a draft of cold air ghosted over his body causing his skin to break out in gooseflesh, a not so subtle reminder of his state of undress. "Instead of running off at the mouth why don't you make yourself useful and give me that flannel you're wearing."

With a good natured shrug, Sam began to unbutton his outer shirt. "Yeah, cause a shirt'll give you back your dignity."

Not ready to concede the kid's point, Dean moved to take a swipe at his head. Instead of coming in contact with Sam's shaggy brown mop, the youth gripped his arm.

"This looks bad."

"I'm fine," Dean offered by rote, though his wrist throbbed with his every breath.

His brother's snort made it clear he didn't believe him. From experience he knew it would be easier to allow Sam to fuss then it would be to try and put the kid off. With a familiarity and expertise that was a bit frightening, the younger man had Dean's wrist cleaned and bandaged as best as the situation allowed in only moments.

Flexing his hand, he smiled slightly at his brother. "Thanks, kid, feels better already."

"So, can we go now?"

With a forced grin Dean turned toward the brunette and winked. "I know I'm ready."

Gear at the ready, the trio left the room.

Dean took the lead, with Christine in the middle and Sammy bringing up the rear. The young woman kept tight against his back, periodically bumping into him. He had to admit after she rammed into him the second time, he found himself wishing he'd given her something a little less pokey than his second favorite knife to protect herself with.

He kept them moving, their formation tight, as he led them toward the front door. As the smell of fresh air wafted through the opening he found himself picking up the pace. No matter what waited for them outside at least he would be able to leave the tangy scent of cinnamon and apples behind. The fact that the odor was a mask for the underlying smell of death and decay only made it more cloying.

Once at the entrance, he lifted his good hand in a signal to stop and gritted his teeth as Christine rammed into him. Using his body to press the girl backward a bit, he then leaned forward and ran a practiced eye over driveway and outlying buildings. "All clear," he said as he moved into the fresh night air.

He knew there were any number of places that Smith could be hiding if the man still lived. However, staying inside the house wasn't an option.

"Do you see him?" Christine asked as she gripped the tail of his blue flannel shirt.

Gently, but firmly, he placed a hand against the young woman's shoulder and pushed her backward. "No, but that doesn't mean he's not out here."

"What're you thinking?" Sam asked in a hushed voice.

One glance at his younger sibling was all it took to guess that the youth was terrified. Even in the dark his hazel eyes shone bright, as if tears threatened to over flow at any moment. With a need that never failed to amaze and slightly scare him, Dean sought to reassure him. "It's okay, Sam, we're armed, and we know what it takes to hurt him."

Sam met his gaze for one long moment before he clenched his jaw and nodded. "Right."

Putting on his most cocky grin, Dean waggled his eyebrows. "Right."

Signaling them to move forward once more, he made his way down the steep steps and onto the macadam driveway. Ignoring Julie's car, he continued to the left until he stood directly beneath the open window through which Smith had fallen. A quick search of the area made it clear that the bastard had hit the ground hard, but had managed to get away.

Far as Dean was concerned that left them with two options. He could convince Sam and Christine to head for safety, and by doing so he could inadvertently put them in Smith's line of sight. Or they could stick together and search out the psycho, in which case they would still be in danger. Both choices sucked, but at least if they stuck together, Dean could maintain an illusion of control.

Decision made, he turned toward the other two and indicated the spot where Smith had landed. "Seems our freak-of-the-week got up and walked away. I'm thinking he hasn't gone far though."

His words leached what little color was left in Christine's face as she tried unsuccessfully to keep watch in every direction. "How do you know he didn't take off?"

"Not enough blood," Sam answered, his voice only slightly less panicked. "That knife was in up to the hilt. If he'd pulled it free here there'd be more blood."

Proud of the teen's sound reasoning, Dean agreed, "Yup, and I'm thinking he's nearby. There's no way he'd be content to just let us walk away. Not after the ass kicking he took."

"So he's watching us?" Christine asked as she tightened her grip around the knife hilt.

With a nod, Dean moved toward the middle of the driveway. There sat Julie's Focus, looking inanely normal given the circumstances. As he began to move around the vehicle, his shadows close behind him, he noted his brother's sudden intake of breath.

"What?" he questioned.

Sam frowned for a moment, his gaze moving toward the long drive, and then answered, "Thought I heard something."

Trusting the younger man's instincts, Dean looked toward the driveway and stilled his body. He slowed his respiration and movements, putting all his efforts into searching for the noise Sammy had heard. After a moment of listening he shrugged. "Don't hear anything."

The young man shook his head and shrugged embarrassedly. "Whatever it was I don't hear it now either."

"Was it Smith?" Christine asked.

Sam met Dean's gaze steadily and shook his head. "Thought it was an engine."

Hoping like hell it was their Dad ready to ride to the rescue, Dean joked, "Probably some poor lost shmuck."

Christine didn't seem convinced as she kept her eyes focused steadily on the driveway. "No it was him. It's probably a trap, he's trying to herd us in the direction he wants."

Before Dean realized what was going on, the brunette had backed into the shadows by the dilapidated barn. One moment she stood alone, her pale face a beacon in the darkness and the next there was a blur of movement behind her. "Christine," he yelled in warning though his every instinct screamed out that he was too late.

Moving faster than he'd thought possible, Sammy lunged toward the girl, screaming his own warning. Desperate to keep his brother from the killer's clutches, Dean simultaneously grabbed for the youth and fired one shot, high above where Smith now held Christine clutched to his chest. "Let her go!" he ordered as he jerked his brother back to his side.

Whether he recognized that he was outnumbered and he just didn't give a damn. Or if he really believed he was invincible, Dean had no clue, but the killer moved forward into the light, shoving the girl before him. "Stay back or I'll snap her neck like a twig."

Certain it was no bluff, Dean kept his distance, his left hand still entwined in Sam's shirt. "Just give it up Smith. You're a dead man walking."

The killer's ice cold smile never faltered at the hunter's threat. Instead, it seemed to grow wider. "Really, a dead man walking? Well now, Dean, the same could be said for you three."

Unable to take a shot while the killer used the girl as a human shield, Dean waited for his opening. "Us, naw, no way. I mean you've already had two girls and a teenager get the jump on you."

"Whose gotten the jump this time?" Smith sneered as he wrapped his long slim fingers about Christine's throat.

"Dean, do you hear it?" Sam breathed his voice carrying no farther than Dean's ear.

At his brother's words, he became more aware of a low throaty growl that was fast approaching up the drive. The calvary had arrived, and given the speed with which it was headed their way, it was pissed. Dean allowed himself one small grin as he contemplated Smith meeting his father. "We shall see, Smith, we shall see."

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

John wracked the steering wheel of the pickup and pressed down on the gas pedal aiming for the opening he could just make out between the trees. The young girl beside him squealed and slammed into his side as he brought the truck around the corner, its back end fishtailing slightly.

Without a word, he reached out and pushed the kid back into the passenger side even as he sped up. "When we get to the house, you will remain in this truck. You got me?" he ordered.

The girl offered no resistance as she stammered, "Yes, sir."

With a nod of satisfaction, he put the girl out of his mind and began concentrating on the driveway before him. If what she'd told him earlier was true, he ought to be at the house at any moment.

Then, just as he rounded the last bend, a glimmer of light caught his eye. As he neared, he got his first real look at Smith's house.

The small clapboard building shone with a warm patina. Cozy and inviting, every inch of the home was designed to welcome you in, to encourage you to lower your defenses.

To his cynical eye, the place screamed trap. It was obvious that Smith, in the same way a carnivorous plant will disguise itself as an insect's favorite meal, had designed this house to entice the unwary.

Anger raced through John as he imagined his boys caught in the bastard's web.

As the driveway began to widen into a parking area, he took in several details at once. A Ford sat parked to one side, looking like nothing more than another prop. The front door of the house sat open, a duffle bag abandoned on the front stoop.

These images and a hundred more filtered through his brain even as he brought the big truck to a skidding halt. Before Julie even had a chance to peel herself off the dashboard, he was swinging out of the vehicle, his gun in his hand.

"Stay," he commanded as he shoved the door closed.

Confident the girl wouldn't dare to follow, John kept the front end of the pickup between himself and the scene that was unfolding before him.

A man, who could only be Smith, stood just before the barn, one arm snaked across the throat of a young woman. John's boys stood ten feet back, Sam looking much younger than his age, and Dean, well Dean was wearing only a pair of plaid boxers and his boots.

Completely confounded as to how his son had ended up sans clothes, John nonetheless didn't miss the murderous intent in his older boy's hard glare.

Dean was pissed.

Long ago he had come to realize that despite his youth, his son was truly dangerous. More so then his younger brother ever would be, and probably more than John, especially when an innocent life was threatened.

Unlike John, and to a lesser extent Sam, who allowed logic and order to mandate their lives. Dean lived a life full of emotion. With a passion and joy that both surprised and humbled the eldest Winchester, his oldest moved through life on a level he would never understand.

Where John maintained a distance between himself and all others, Dean drew people in, he connected. Even if it was only on a superficial level, it helped to create within him a feeling of empathy for those that deserved it.

Dean had a ferocity born from the need to protect all those that crossed his path. It was an innate trait that had survived the loss of his mother, and for all the intents and purposes the loss of his father. Or maybe, John reconsidered it wasn't inborn, maybe it was a direct effect of the losses he'd suffered in his young life.

Either way, it made Dean an opponent to be wary of.

With a steely determination to protect those around him, and a cache of skills to back it up, Dean had become a man whom John wouldn't want to cross. Despite his fear, as he watched Dean take a bead on the killer, The older hunter couldn't have been more proud.

"Dean! Sam!," he called out as he chanced moving closer, "You boys okay?"

Closing the distance between himself and the tableau before him, he took cover behind the rear of the Ford. From this angle, he had no clear shot. At least, not without at least winging the young woman and he could only imagine his sons upset with him if he shot the hostage.

That left him in the unenviable position of wait and see. He would only take action if it became absolutely necessary. Focused and ready, John waited to see how things would play out.

888

As the big black truck came racing up the driveway, only to skid to a stop, Dean could have sworn he heard his brother, thank god. Not so ready to issue prayers of thanks yet, after all, Christine was still in danger, Dean nonetheless took a measure of comfort from his Dad's sudden appearance.

"You're outnumbered, Smith, just give it up," Dean ordered.

With a snort, the killer tightened his grip. "Another hunter. How is it I managed over seventy years without tripping over one of you, and now in the space of a day I've got two of you on my ass?"

"Three," Sam ground out as he maintained his position.

Sam's declaration surprised Dean every bit as much as it did the killer. His brother had never, not once claimed to be a hunter. Not even in the early years when he'd still considered their lifestyle to be cool, and their dad nothing short a hero. Unlike Dean, Sam had always resented hunting and toll it had taken on their small family.

Now, to hear his brother lay claim to the title, a title that Dean himself held so much respect for, was a moment that he'd never expected to have. With more than a little pride, Dean agreed, "Three."

"Oh, isn't that sweet, baby-boy pretending he's a big bad hunter," Smith sneered. "Well, son, we'll see how much you want to be a hunter, when I get you back on that little contraption of mine and I take what you owe me."

Dean could see his father snake his way across the driveway, the old man always careful to keep Julie's car between him and the killer. "He's not your son, and we're here to make sure it all ends now."

"Dean! Sam, you boys okay?"

As his fathers deep voice washed over him, Dean felt his façade weaken slightly. As much as he wanted Smith to face justice, he also wanted this to be all over. His body was beaten and broken and his spirit wasn't much better. The fact that his brother had been threatened, even if only for a short while, had taken more out of him than he cared to admit.

Determined to keep his weakness to himself he called out, reassuring his father. "We're good, Sir."

Focusing once more on the problem at hand, Dean chanced a glance at his brother and quirked one lone eyebrow. At first, the kid didn't move, and he found himself wondering if Sam had missed the signal given the dim light of the spot light mounted on the roof of the barn.

Then, like a bat out of hell, Sam moved, darting forward as if to grab for Christine. As Dean had predicted, Smith jerked the girl backward, offsetting his balance and hers. With bated breath, Dean drew a bead and fired, striking the psycho in his shoulder before he could get the girl back into position.

The force of the shot knocked Smith slightly backward, giving Sam a chance to put another slug in him. With Christine on huddled on the ground, Dean moved forward firing as he went.

Again an again the brothers fired on the killer, as he twitched and stumbled backward from their assault. Smoke poured from the creature's wounds as the blessed lead penetrated its skin. Dean's clip was emptied first. Sam caught up in the moment moved closer to Smith still firing.

About to warn the teen to keep his distance, Dean realized he was a moment too late when the killer suddenly gathered himself and lunged. With a tackle that belied his silver hair, Smith knocked the youth to the ground in a hard hit.

"Sam!" Dean shouted as he jumped forward intent on saving his brother.

"Dean, no!" came his father's cry from behind him.

Without a care for his own safety, Dean ignored his father and grabbed for his kid brother. The youth was pinned under the killer, struggling as much as he could, as Smith worked to wrap his long slim fingers around his neck.

Not ready to watch Sam be choked unconscious once more, Dean took his running start and used the momentum. Drawing back one heavily booted foot, he planted it in Smith's side, causing the creature to cry out in pain.

Again, he drew back his boot, intending to take another shot. Only Smith was ready this time. In one smooth motion, he grabbed Dean's boot and twisted, tripping up the younger man, causing him to cry out from the red-hot pain that flared in his knee.

888

Just like that, the weight that had been pressing down on his chest was gone, allowing him to take a full breath. As he drug in air he swung his gaze around, searching out Dean and Smith now locked in a heated battle.

"Dad!" Sam called, as soon as he was able.

The call was both a plea for reassurance and an urgent demand that the older man do something. He could barely make out John's shadowy figure as he stood just over the grappling couple's fight.

At Sam's call, his father turned toward him and held up one hand. "Don't move, Sammy."

More than ready to regulate his brother's safety to the grown-ups, Sam nonetheless edged closer and quickly re-loaded his weapon.

For one bright and shining moment, Sam was certain his brother had gained the upper hand. On top of Smith, the young man drove punishing rights into the killers jaw, allowing the sliver-tongued devil no respite.

Then in a flash, Smith managed to reach out and grab hold of Dean's injured right wrist. Just like that the battle swung in the killer's favor with Smith, flipping the younger man.

"Dean!" Sam cried as he took a step forward. "Do something," he screamed at his father, even as John raised his gun and took aim at the killer.

"Samuel, you will stay back," John ordered his tone reminiscent of the few times Sam dared to disobey him.

Resting on the balls of his feet, ready to act should his father falter, Sam watched in dismay as Smith landed a solid blow. His brother's head snapped back with a pop that Sam swore he could hear and his sibling's eyes rolled up into the back of his head.

Dean's boneless slump scared Sam more than any creature of the night he'd ever come face to face with. As he watched, the killer reared back, his face lifted to the heavens and he let loose a primal scream. Obviously, Smith was certain of his victory. The younger Winchester couldn't fault him for being so smug given the still and silent way Dean lay beneath him.

Without thought for his father's order, Sam moved.

888

The moment the killer reared back, John took his shot. Straight through the bastard's head, he watched in satisfaction as the creature slumped sideways off his oldest. Before he could fire again, Sam was at his brother's side blocking his shot.

Fearful that despite the obvious head wound the killer wasn't dead, John strode forward. "Get away, Sam. That's an order, damnit."

Sam didn't even have the decency to look fearful as he turned to glare at the eldest Winchester. "He's hurt."

"Of course he's hurt," John mumbled as he reached out and grabbed a fistful of the killer's denim pants. "There's gonna be two of you nursing wounds before I'm done with you, Sport."

If his youngest heard his threat, then he chose to ignore it as he gathered his brother against him.

That's the problem with being a parent. No matter how many times you threaten to throttle your kids for disobeying, they always seemed to understand it was just an empty threat. Though as John gave Dean a quick once over before tugging the old man away, maybe this time he really was gonna kick Sam's stubborn ass.

He'd drug Smith about four foot away from his boys, Sam studiously avoiding his gaze the entire time, when he first felt the psycho twitch. More familiar than he cared to admit with creatures that could heal themselves if given enough time, John had little doubt they couldn't count Smith out yet.

888

Christine watched in mute horror as the gruff man that had suddenly rode to their rescue began to tug Smith away from Dean and Sam. Though the killer appeared dead, having sustained a lethal shot to the head, Christine couldn't help but worry the bastard wasn't done for yet.

Scared and more than a little angry, she turned tail, heading for Smith's lair. Once at the threshold she lost all her courage. It took a glance back toward a still unconscious Dean, for her to be able to go on. Too many times the man had gone out of his way to protect her, now it was her turn. She would be the one to make sure that Smith was done for.

Careful to hold her breath against the horrendous smell that seemed to permanent every inch of the place, Christine hobbled her way up the stairs and into the bedroom where she'd so recently spent time as an unwilling guest. Filled with determination, she kept her gaze away from the bed, and focused on the item that sat leaning against the wall.

Though loath to touch the wooden handle, she nonetheless persevered. Surprised at its weight she gripped the wooden shaft and hurried for the exit.

Down the steps she went, steeling herself for what came next. Though the grizzled man seemed competent Christine knew she would never be able to rest if she wasn't sure of Smith's demise. As she crossed the dead and rotted lawn, she took note of Julie's exit from the black truck. Cheered by the sight of her best friend, she approached the killer.

Smith still lay on the ground, though he was a few feet farther from Dean that she remembered. The boys' father stood his ground, next to the killer with his gun poised to take another shot. No longer content to be a victim, Christine hefted the heavy axe onto her shoulder and approached.

"He'll just come back," she muttered as she stepped up to the killer. Without thought, she brought the weapon down as hard as she was able.

At the feel of axe meeting flesh, bile backed up into Christine's throat threatening to choke her. However, her need for vengeance was greater. With a small whimper she looked down to see where the axe had hit.

Instead of his throat as expected, she had struck the killer in the forehead, nearly cleaving the bones in half. "Oh, God," she moaned, suddenly sure she was going to barf.

"Let me-" The elder Winchester said as he moved to take the axe from her.

With a growl, Christine put her foot on Smith's face and wrenched the weapon free. "He's mine,"

Drawing back the axe once more, Christine then swung hard.

"Well, at least this time you got him in the neck. I can assume that's where you're trying to hit him?"

A rush of savage glee poured into Christine as she noted the damage she'd done to the killer this time. Determined to finish the bastard once more, she hefted the axe only have its weight overpower her. Listing to the side, she would have toppled altogether had a strong arm not gripped her tight.

"Easy there."

Grateful for the older man's support, Christine tried to lift the axe once more. "Have to finish."

"Chris?"

The questioning voice, halted Christine's movement, making her list even more to the side. Then Jules was there, her arms wrapping tight around the petite girl.

"Oh, thank god," the blonde sobbed as she hugged Christine hard.

"Jules," Christine whimpered as she dropped the weapon and reciprocated her friend's tight squeeze. "I was so scared."

888

John watched with a mixture of disbelief and dread as the two woman embraced. As they began trading tears and stories, he nimbly caught the axe before it hit the ground and turned back to finish the killer off.

As he stared down at the mangled body, he couldn't help but wonder if the wound that Christine had carved into the bastards skull didn't already look slightly better or if it was his imagination playing tricks on him. A glance toward where his boys sat, battered, and broken had him taking no chances. Raising the axe above his head, he grimly finished the chore the girl had started.

888

It was the sound of an engine that first caught Dean's attention. Carefully, oh, so carefully he turned his head and glanced toward the driveway. If the sight of Smith's body, dismembered and currently sitting on a pyre his father had built hadn't convinced him that the bastard was finally dead, the unveiling of Smith's world would have done the trick.

Gone was the well kept house, instead a wreck stood in its place, seeming to decay even as they watched. The driveway had sprouted vines and weeds that were swiftly beginning to overtake Julie's ford. He hadn't followed his father into the house, but John's tightlipped countenance when he had at last returned, with every last bit of their gear, had made it clear the interior of the building hadn't fared much better.

Now as they stood, and in his case slumped, in a semi-circle around the bonfire, watching the Smith's remains go up in flames, he tensed at the intrusion. The appearance of strangers would lead to questions that none of them wanted to answer.

The girls, both run down with lack of sleep and shell shocked from the days events, swayed softly in the night air. Leaning against each other, they stared at the blaze with dull eyes. Julie had been all for leaving right away, but Christine had insisted they see it out to the end.

Dean couldn't help but feel the woman was right in that she would never feel secure unless she witnessed Smith's complete destruction. So Julie had caved, only after a myriad of promises from Christine that they would leave as soon as the last ember was out.

"Dad?" Dean groaned, careful not to make any sudden movements. His wrist though it looked like ground hamburger had actually fared better than he'd thought. Sam had taken care of it, cleaning and bandaging the wounds, and now it was nothing more than a dull throb. His head on the other hand, hurt to the point where he almost wished Smith had simply killed him.

His shadow, the slim teen that even now was hovering only inches from his back wasn't helping matters much. Sam had shifted from grownup to child in the blink of an eye, and like a child he needed Dean to be better now, to provide the youth with some sense of security. His brother must have seriously thought the worst to have been reduced to the clingy, mass of quivering skin and bones that insisted on remaining within touching distance at all times.

Even now as they watched a rusted out pick-up come into the clearing that had once been the driveway, Dean could feel tension thrumming through the kid. "Easy, Sam," he whispered.

In response, his brother took a half-step closer his shoulder now pressing firmly against Dean's own.

He'd withdrawn his gun from inside his jacket and was even now figuring out how he could put himself in front of his brother without puking when his father called out.

"Well, I'll be damned," John swore, his tone making it clear there was no threat.

Exchanging surprised glances with his brother, Dean watched as two men climbed from the truck. The first was short and wiry, a full beard trickling down over his thin body. The second wasn't much more than a hulking shadow as he climbed deliberately out of the truck.

As he watched the man straighten up, and up and up, he was floored by his sheer size. "Holy crap," he murmured as he watched the two men approach their father.

"Who is that?" Sam muttered obviously floored at finding someone who made him look downright tiny.

"Beats me," he replied absently. Whoever they were his father strode out to meet them, locking arms in greeting with the giant.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean could see Christine and Jules tense up at the sudden appearance of strangers. "You girls should go. No need for you to stay any longer."

For one long moment, Christine stared hard at the hotly burning fire, her jaw clenched tight. Then Julie nudged her gently, drawing her attention away from the flame.

"Let's go, Chris," Julie pleaded.

At last, the woman nodded. "I'm ready."

Christine stepped toe to toe with Dean, a tired smile gracing her face. With a small shrug, she leaned up and pressed a light kiss to his cheek. "Thanks," she whispered as she pulled off the coat she was wearing and held it out to him.

Earlier when he'd first come too, the young woman had delved into the back of the Ford and had found a change of clothes, allowing Dean to regain at least a bit of his dignity. Though the debacle had been almost worth it when he'd seen the way his father's eyes had lit up, a craggy smile gracing his features, because of Dean's undressed state. It had been too long since he'd seen his father smile in anything other than grim determination.

Accepting the return of his coat, Dean graced the young woman with a grin and said, "You think you can find your way out of here? No more unplanned stops at mass murderer's houses?"

Christine's smile almost looked normal as she reassured him, "Not for this trip at least. You take care of yourself, Dean."

With a nod, he watched as Julie rose up on her tiptoes and planted a kiss on Sammy's cheek. Luckily for the kid, dawn was still a ways off, so the blonde didn't see him flush.

Both girls turned to leave, waving half-heartedly toward their father who still stood with the two strangers. As they climbed into Julie's car and started off down the long drive, Dean couldn't help but feel a bit smug. "We did good, Sammy."

Ignoring his brother's irritated snort, Dean garnered his courage and began to walk toward his father. Every step caused his head to pound, and his wrist to throb. Still, it wouldn't do to let his brother know just how bad things are. "You so totally should have kissed Julie back."

With his hands tucked deep into his pockets Sam graced him with a shrug. "I've...uh...got a frie...I mean girl..."

"Don't hurt yourself, kid," Dean teased as he tried to make sense of Sam's ramblings. "You mean you have a girlfriend? Alright, brother."

"Shut up, Dean," Sam muttered as they neared their father.

Not ready to listen John lecture Sam on the higher points of sex ed, Dean wisely kept his mouth closed. Once really had been enough.

"What's up, Dad?"

John turned toward the boys and introduced the strangers. "Dean, Sam, this is Ketch and Daryl. They helped me out with that rawhead and when your brother didn't follow protocol, they helped me track you both down."

Dean ignored both his brother's indrawn breath, and his father's pointed comments. Distraction being the better part of valor, he listed to the side, and immediately felt Sammy leaning toward him. The kid, at least for the next few days would be easy to distract, all Dean needed to do was play up his injuries. Given how he felt that really shouldn't be that hard. "I guess we owe you our thanks."

Daryl's deep booming voice and southern draw helped to put the twenty-year-old at ease. "It was our pleasure, your father actually did us the favor."

"Daryl and Ketch here have offered to take care of things for us, boys. You two about ready to hit it?"

"Take care of things?" Sam questioned suspiciously.

"We're gonna put a torch to 'er," Ketch cawed. "About time to, too much death here."

"That works for me," Dean groaned as he leaned even farther toward his brother. "You got a car stashed out here somewhere, Sammyboy?"

Suspicions forgotten, Sammy took on more of Dean's weight. "Back by the Impala. Dad can give us a lift."

With a wince that had more to do with Sam's demand, rather than his pain, Dean added, "We'll wait in the truck."

Ready to call it a day, Dean allowed his brother to help him to the pick up. If he leaned more heavily against the kid then he had earlier, he put it down to the pretext of trying to distract Sam.

888

John watched as his boys made their way toward the truck. His keen eye worked over Dean, searching out the injuries the boy may not have disclosed. His oldest was notorious at keeping mum about what hurt. If it wasn't for Sam's sharp eye, and bullying skill, Dean would have been satisfied to suffer in silence.

"Those'er fine boys," Ketch said, as he shot a stream of tobacco juice across the driveway.

Thinking back to everything he'd learned from the girls, John couldn't help but agree. "Yeah, hot-headed, though," he said, thinking aloud.

"There are worse things to be," Daryl chimed in.

Even given Sam's hormone-driven hissy-fits, and Dean's insatiable appetite for anything in a skirt, John had to accept he must have done something right. Then again, as he watched Sam help his brother into the cab, he couldn't help but say with pride, "They are their mother's boys."

TBC


	14. Chapter 14

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To say that the truck ride back to the shanty was a quiet one was like saying the sky was blue. Stuck between his father and his brother, Dean tried to breach the silence twice before giving it up as futile.

Between his old man and Sammy was a position he found himself in almost constantly lately.

Like warring nations, John and the surly teen required constant monitoring to ensure they didn't end the uneasy peace. Dean, the tiny country caught between the superpowers, lived in fear he would be destroyed should war finally break out.

It didn't help that each faction seemed to speak another language, leaving the twenty year old to act as both buffer and translator.

Living under the constant threat of war, a war that would destroy his already damaged family was a strain that was beginning to take its toll. Every word, every decision, he now made must be analyzed from every angle to ensure that neither side fired that first shot.

The fact that neither John nor Sam seemed to sense the precarious edge they were living on, wasn't a surprise to Dean. Both his father and his brother, for all that they would deny it were mirror images of each other. Only a differing of circumstances led them to want different things.

John, having lost everything in the blink of an eye to a nameless enemy, had chosen to protect what was left of his family by cutting himself off. By centering his life to a pinpoint upon which only the boys were left. Having cut off family, friends, and any dreams he might have once cherished, he was able to devout himself completely to two things. Preparing his boys to make certain they would never be blindsided by fate, and to finding the thing that had destroyed his world. If he happened to save people along the way, well then it was a good day.

Unlike his father, Sam had never really lost anything. Dean was sometimes afraid that his constant presence in Sammy's life had made him dismiss John's fears. Only now that Dean had begun to hunt, had his brother begun to understand the threat his family was under. Only to Sam, the threat wasn't the world that John had run from, but the one he'd created for his sons.

To Dean it seemed as if he was the only one to recognize the truth.

There was no safe place. Not here on the fringes of society, and especially not in Sammy's dream world of normal. Every day of their lives was proof of that.

So, the way he figured it that left a person with a choice. You could pretend. Live the lie right up until the moment something slithered out of the dark to pull you under, or you could face it head on.

Dean had chosen to fight. Now, if only he could convince Sammy to give up his fairytale ideals, they could get on with some serious ass-kicking.

Determined to keep the kid alive long enough for him to experience his epiphany, Dean focused his attention on their surroundings. To his surprise, John was even now pulling up alongside the Impala, her black coat gleaming in the early morning light, a welcomed sight that soothed his heart in so many ways.

His one last link to a mother he'd barely gotten to know. A reminder of good times, when Sam still considered the hunt an adventure, and a home on wheels that his father helmed, allowing them to stay together.

Taking comfort from the car, he turned his gaze toward the Subaru that rested by his baby's side. "That's grand theft auto, sitting there, little bro, I'm touched," Dean teased as he followed Sam out of the pick-up.

With a ghost of a smile, the kid shook his head. "I borrowed it. Brother or not, there's no way I'm risking federal prison, Dude."

"Borrowed it?" John's deep voice questioned as he approached the Impala. Gesturing to Dean for the keys, he snapped, "What the hell's that mean?"

"You know, Dad, borrowed it. Like from a friend. You do remember what a friend is, don't you?" Sam bated.

Tired, aching, and near ready to pass out from hunger, Dean found himself suddenly wishing he could just keep his head down and stay out of it. Allow the kid to receive the tongue-lashing he deserved for his smart-ass remark.

Problem was, John wouldn't just stop with a demand for respect. Instead, he'd allow Sam's lapse in manners to become a ten hour lecture on every way his youngest had failed in following the chain of command.

It wasn't lost on Sam, or Dean for that matter, that these lectures were always about being a good soldier instead of a good son. It was something that Dean was able to let go. To understand that his father was only human and one that was coping as best as he knew how.

Sam didn't seem capable of recognizing that fact.

"Good thinking, Sammy, always better to avoid breaking the law," Dean interceded, quoting one of John's favorite lectures.

John gave Sam one long hard glance before he turned toward the car and popped the trunk.

Looking slightly put out that he wasn't going to get the confrontation he was so obviously gunning for, Sam nodded and asked, "How's the hand?"

Having written the handbook 'Sammy Manipulation 101', Dean confessed to a measure of his discomfort. "It aches."

As expected, Sam eased an arm around Dean's shoulders and began leading the twenty year old toward the car. Happy to have defused the situation, Dean allowed the mothering. He figured if letting his brother play nurse kept the kid from needling their father than it was well worth it.

His brother, swung open the car door and eased him onto the seat facing outward. With his feet planted firmly on the ground and his shoulder leaning heavily against the black leather, Dean felt exhaustion tugging at him, urging him to give in.

A wary glance toward his brother's thundercloud expression made it clear that now was no time to give into the urge. Sam had something stuck in his craw and sooner or later the kid was going to out with it. Dean would have to remain vigilant.

Just then, their father came around the fender with the medicine kit in his weathered hands. "Sam, get your brother fixed up. I'm gonna get the gear from the shack."

The youth grudgingly accepted the kit, unable to find fault with John's orders. Not for lack of trying, Dean thought wryly, as he held out his arm without complaint. What an hour ago had been a tolerable throbbing pain, had now reached epic proportions. Then there was the steady ache in his shoulder, and what he was pretty sure was a bruised kidney from one of Smith's brutal kicks. Overall, he was more than ready to call it a day.

"Be gentle," Dean murmured in a high-pitched tone as he fluttered his lashes.

As planned, he was rewarded with a rueful headshake and a quip, "I always knew you were a girl."

Not ready to tolerate too much disrespect, Dean whipped out his good arm, and cuffed the kid upside the head. "Watch it, one funny-man in the family is enough."

His shaggy head bent over Dean's wrist, Sam asked without looking up, "If you're the comedian, what am I?"

"You're the drama-queen," the twenty year old teased.

Sam's answering snort of incredulity was nearly drowned out by another gruff reply, "You got that right."

His father's untimely utterance was enough to stiffen Sam's spine. The kid glared up at John, his hands tightening on the bandage he was wrapping around Dean's wrist and practically snarled. "Guess I'm just following in your footsteps."

Dean wanted to cry in frustration. Right there and then he recognized that he'd failed. As he watched John's expression turn stormy, he knew the uneasy truce had been broken, maybe even shattered beyond repair.

"Pretty sure, you're nothing like me." John growled as he muscled the skinny teen out of his way. "I know better than to wrap a wound like that too tight."

With the volley of shots gearing up, Dean watched what little color his brother had left in his face drain out as he realized he'd been wrapping the injured limb too tight. "It's fine, Sammy. You were doing a good job," Dean insisted.

A quick shake of his head was Sam's only answer as he distanced himself from both his brother and his father. Looking way younger than his years, the teen crossed his arms over his chest and refused to meet Dean's piercing green gaze.

Unable to bridge the chasm between his father and Sam, Dean just wanted the day to end. Focusing on his father's dark head, he asked, "We ready to hit it?"

John's work roughened hands, gently smoothed the stark white bandage one more time before he looked up to meet Dean's gaze. "You and Sammy can head on home. I'll be there in a day or so. I want you two packed and ready to go."

Never able to refuse an order, even one crouched as a request, Dean nodded in agreement even as his chest constricted in regret. He'd really hoped to stay in West Virginia for a bit longer. Sam had made some friends, and given the car he'd borrowed, maybe even a girl. His brother, who thrived in the world that Dean so carefully straddled, had wanted nothing more than to finish out school in one place.

It was a desire Dean didn't understand, but one he'd wanted for his brother.

"I'm not going." Sam's cold voice rang out clearly in the early morning air.

And there it was, a gauntlet thrown into the ring directly at his father's feet. Resigned to the fight that was about to happen, Dean prepared himself to at least prevent it from becoming physical. So far, John had retained at least a tenuous control over his emotions, despite Sam's bating tone and words, but the twenty year old knew it wouldn't last. Sam was simply too good at picking apart his father's defenses.

"Oh, you're going," John stated as he gained his feet in one smooth motion. Turning to face the teen, he pointed a finger and snapped, "And I won't hear another word from you."

With a snort, the kid rolled his eyes and straightened to his full height. Now looking his father directly in the eye, Sam spat, "You're gonna hear it alright. I'm not going. You said we could stay till the year was out."

"That was before you went and outed us, boy. You think you're so goddamn smart. Well, I might be as ignorant as you think, but at least I know better than to whine about my troubles to some piece of skirt."

Some of the starch drained from Sam's spine, as he worked to rally from John's accusation. "I didn't tell Jane anything. I just asked to borrow her car, told her Dean was in trouble."

Never satisfied to wound an opponent, John moved in for the kill, "You can delude yourself all you want, Sammy, but she'll talk and the questions will start."

Even as he stood watching his dad's words eating away at his brother's confidence, Dean said nothing. Really, there was nothing to say, his father would do what he wanted and all the arguments in the world would only serve to make the old man dig his heels in even deeper. So, instead of defending the kid, Dean dropped his gaze to stare at his now bandaged wrist and ignored the pain that was coming off of Sam in waves.

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Sam had been able to maintain a measure of calm up until the moment he saw his brother drop his head in defeat. To watch Dean cave, without even a sigh of protest, only drove Sam harder, to defend not only his own dreams and hopes but also those of his brother. "You promised we could stay till summer, we're paid up on our rent, Dean's got a job, we can't just up and leave because you've got an itch."

At his confession, he would have sworn he heard his brother groan in protest. The sound brought him up short, reminding him that he'd promised Dean he wouldn't say anything about the job his older sibling had gotten.

"A job?" John asked, swinging his attention from Sam to Dean. "Since when?"

Knowing his brother would refuse to respond, even to defend himself, Sam dove in with both feet, "About the same time we ran out of food. Funny how that works."

John's face turned an unpleasant shade of plum as snapped, "And you figured I'd be okay with this. What part of stay under the radar don't you get, boy!"

"Hard to stay under the radar, when you're starving to death and the landlord's pounding on your door," Sam protested.

"Well, maybe if your brother wasn't so busy buying drinks so he can get up every skirt he passes, the money I leave might last a bit longer."

Memories of Dean refusing to eat so that Sam had enough, or risking his life to hustle up a game of pool to pay the rent, slammed into the teen making him forget everything but his anger toward his father. Intent on making the older man understand just what he was doing to his sons, Sam stepped up to him and opened his mouth, "Y-"

"Sam..."

The sound of his brother's whispered plead, was every bit as affective as a slap in the face. As much as he didn't want to, Sam turned his focus on Dean.

His brother stood, swaying slightly, looking much younger than his twenty years. Without a word, Dean held Sam's gaze, his face full of pleading. He knew what his brother was asking of him, and for a moment Sam considered rolling right over his sibling.

His father's current course was set for self-destruction. Sam had no doubt of this. The problem was Dean seemed determined to ignore all the warning signs out of some kind of misguided loyalty. No matter how Sam argued and cajoled, his brother just wasn't willing to admit that John, intentionally or not, would end up taking his sons down with him.

Sam, however, knew better. When at last his father's head dipped down below the water, he had no intention of allowing the man to drag him down as well. He deserved better, Dean deserved better, even if his brother couldn't see it now.

It was Dean's green gaze, shadowed by dark circles of exhaustion that finally put an end to his anger. His brother was in no shape to defend himself, and that alone was reason enough for Sam to back down. Rallying around Dean, he ignored his father and moved to his brother's side. "Come on, man, let's get you settled."

Ignoring his father completely, Sam began to help Dean back into the passenger seat, only to have his brother protest. "Naw, I'll drive, Sam. Follow you back home."

Sam was about to protest when his eye was caught by Jane's little Subaru. He was half-tempted to just ditch the car, after all if they were leaving town, and really Sam had no doubt they were, what did it matter.

"I can drive, Dude. Besides it'll give you one last chance to work that Sammy-mojo."

His brother's whispered words, given with a roguish wink, nearly brought tears to the younger man's eyes. Leave it to Dean, to offer Sam one small defiance even as he accepted their fate. Accepting his brother's words, Sam helped him around to the driver's side and helped him get settled.

Then without a word to his father, he in turn got into Jane's car. With one last glance toward the black car that sat just behind him, Sam made a U-turn and pulled out of the old dirt driveway.

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"You know you're not doing him any favors by babying him,"

Dean wanted to close his eyes at the sound of his father's voice, but knew it would only serve to get the man's temper going again. "I'm not babying him, we'll be ready to go by Monday," Dean replied as he cranked the engine to life.

John leaned forward, his gaze hard but somehow sympathetic. "If we don't rein him in tight, he's gonna bolt."

Afraid that his father had hit the nail on the head, Dean turned away and gazed out over the scrubby clearing. He was beginning to believe that his kid brother was going to bolt no matter what they did. It was a thought that popped up more and more lately and it left Dean feeling cold.

Unable to think anymore, Dean simply lifted one hand in goodbye.

On the road once more, the rumble of his baby's engine soothing his aches and pains, Dean nosed the car toward home. Toward his brother.

The end.

**Chapter End Notes:**

Well, guys, that's all. Thanks to everyone that has shown support for this story, I'm thrilled with the positive response. Not sure when, but I have a feeling I will be doing one more story in this set dealing with Sam's departure for college. I know it's been done before in so many wonderful ways, but I just can't help but give it a go myself. As always Thanks for reading - kel ;)


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